Ambivalent
by bakuboi
Summary: Bakugou Katsuki does not hate Midoriya Izuku...but he sure as hell doesn't like him, either.
1. Questions

"Pssst, Bakugou..!"  
Red eyes shift towards his right, squinting the slightest bit with instinctive irritation as he locks onto the source of the attempted whisper. When his attention slips from where Aizawa is muttering apathetically about their assignment, Katsuki finds it's Kirishima who's pestering him, as usual. The other's eyes are shining with a mixture of things he can't quite understand, nor place- he's never been good at reading emotions. Body language, specifically the kind present during combat? Yes. Strategy? Yes. Anything other than physically conveyable rage? No. The statement had been quiet- well, as quiet as a loud mouthed spazz like him could muster, Katsuki figures.

Not quiet enough, however, as it still manages to garner attention; this becomes apparent as he sees the blonde behind Kirishima lean forward, his tell-tale grin pulling at his lips, honey-colored eyes gleaming with curiosity. They're both staring at him now, dumb, dopey smiles on their dumb, dopey faces. Once again, Katsuki finds, he's annoyed. He's not sure if it's the fact that Kirishima sucks so much shit at whispering, or whether it stems from Kaminari's stupid face, but it's a tolerable annoyance- the both of them. Kirishima more so than Kaminari, but in the end he can inwardly admit he considers them...close acquaintances. Maybe friends? They were the only ones who really spoke to him outside of class, the only ones who (aside from Ashido and Sero) he could stand- yeah, whatever, they were friends-

"Why do ya hate Midoriya so much?" He bristles. Nevermind. Not friends. Definitely _not_ fucking friends.  
The hand he'd been resting his chin on absentmindedly beforehand slams down onto the surface of the desk, cool against his heated fingertips. How fucking dare this idiot ask him a question like _that._

"What the FUCK is it to _YOU_ , huh?!" He snaps, eyes sparking to life as anger pools in his veins. Kirishima isn't fazed, though, and that annoys him even fucking more. His smile unfaltering, the red head closes his eyes and puts his hands up in a gesture of defense.

"Whoa, no needa get so hostile! He's not even here!"  
"Yeah, he went to go, like, pee or something!" Kaminari chimes in, causing Katsuki's glare to shift from Kirishima to him instead. The way the other squirms under his fiery eyes appeases his pride for a moment, however brief it may be. Katsuki knows that. He knows Deku went to the bathroom a minute or two ago; _'Deku.'_ The name leaves a bad taste in his mouth even when he simply thinks about it.

"Just 'cause that shitrag ain't here doesn't mean I wanna fuckin' talk about him," Katsuki grits out, volume more subdued than before after the first outburst got him a couple stares; not that he cares. Their judgement means less than literal garbage to him, the only look he cares about being Aizawa's agitated one. He knows better than to pick a fight with that dry-eyed fuck, though that sure as hell doesn't mean the urge isn't present.

"And don't you ever go putting your dumbass words in my mouth again, hair-for-brains!" He can see the retort forming on Kirishima's tongue, but right as it does the door slides open and in pops a splash of green. 'Deku.' He thinks bitterly, and he can once again taste the way it feels on his tongue as he contemplates saying it. Katsuki's jaw clenches as he practically rips himself from the position he's in, turning away from both Kirishima and Kaminari in order to face the front of the room again. Crimson eyes lock onto the board, and he steels himself in order to keep from looking at the broccoli haired fuck that just walked in. He will not look. Izuku closes the door behind him. He will not look. He hears the way his feet lightly shuffle back towards the row they sit in. He will not look- his eyes betray him for next thing he knows he throws a side eyed glance towards Izuku as the boy steps past him, and is mildly surprised to find his eyes lock with Deku's own. The surprise in his gaze burns up quickly enough, however, glare narrowing as he sneers at the other.

"What are you staring at, hah?! Sit down, shitty Deku!" The exclamation causes Aizawa's apathetic gaze to dart over to the pair, which quiets the class in the process, and makes Izuku's face contort in a manner where Katsuki knows he's trying to fight the urge to blurt apologies. He'd been doing that, as of late- growing a pair. Or at least trying to; becoming less apologetic and, frankly, less of a pussy too. A lot of things had been changing about Deku, he notes- he was less skittish, happier, more confident- thanks to everyone in this room except Katsuki himself.

That irritated him.

"Bakugou, hallway." The monotonous demand snapped his gaze from Izuku's apprehensive face towards the board, where Aizawa stood with a finger pointed towards the door.  
Suddenly that ugly anger reared its head, causing him to lurch forward and to his feet, both hands planting violently onto the desk with explosive speed.

"WHY?! Because Deku's taking his sweet fucking time getting his ass to his chair?! He-" He feels a hand- no, _Deku's_ hand- hovering slightly adjacent to his shoulder, as if he'd almost placed it on him. "K-Kacchan, please don't make Aizawa angry.." It's a soft request, pleading and gentle but it stabs Katsuki right in the pride and he feels a roar of retaliation barrel through his body.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING TO, SHITNERD?! I'LL KILL YOU-" A sigh. A sudden force restraining his arm, the one he almost threatened to launched at Izuku's face. "Stop acting like a child and blaming others for your disruptive behavior. Either sit down, or get out. I don't care which." He feels his lips curl into a toothy snarl, feels the blood pumping through his veins, feels the ire exploding through his body; telling him to turn around and sucker punch Deku out of his fucking life.  
But he also feels the bindings wrapped around his arm, hears the word "childish" rumbling through his skull, and ultimately he chokes down the tidal wave of trash he was about to talk. Opting instead for breathing raggedly as he forces the tension in his arm to settle. Yet, the moment Aizawa's wraps loosen their grip he's stomping towards the door.

He can't do this shit today. Can't deal with Aizawa. Can't deal with Deku. Can't deal with that stupid fucking question Kirishima asked him. Not to-fucking-day.

As the door slams shut and his fist makes contact with the wall opposite of the classroom Katsuki feels like he can finally breathe again for the first time since Izuku walked into the room. The sting in his knuckles mixes with the burning heat in his hand and he finally feels the anger bubble in his core- no longer exploding through his every nerve and he wonders if it's because that punch was meant for Deku. Wonders if his body craves to cause his childhood friend pain. The bell rings. Movement catches his eye- there's a window mere inches from his fist and when he stands back from the wall, breaking the soothing contact of his skinned knuckles against it, what's left staring back at him are the passing figures of his classmates as they head to lunch. Just as he doesn't miss the weary glances thrown his way, he also doesn't miss that Izuku comes out last, with two bags rather than one. Katsuki doesn't turn around to face him- he can't. He can't knowing that anger is once again churning in his gut and that makes him even angrier- since when has he ever been hesitant when it comes to anything regarding that shitnerd? Never. Never and it wasn't gonna start fucking now.

But before he can turn around he watches Izuku's reflection as he quietly places the bag down behind him. When he stands up again Katsuki can see the pull of his lips as if he's going to say something, can see the way Izuku's hand begins to reach out to him, and for a moment Izuku's mouth opens. For a moment, Katsuki holds his breath, afraid of breaking the thick air of something that hangs between them; yet his body does not still completely, fingers twitching as he braces for contact. Izuku catches it- eyes darting to Katsuki's tensed shoulders, before running down the length of his arm to look at the semi-clenched fist at the blonde's side. That something between them breaks. The words sitting on the tip of Izuku's tongue never come, and he watches the way those green eyes fall. He practically feels the way Deku's demeanor shrinks, mouth closing silently into a thin lipped frown as he looks dejectedly at the ground. Hand dropping back to his side he watches as Izuku slowly turns and leaves, walking down the corridor to the cafeteria.

 _Disgusting._  
 _Pathetic._  
 _Worthless._

Red eyes peer back at him in the window. For once, he's not sure if those words are directed at Deku.

 _(They're not.)_


	2. Memories

The walk home is uneventful. There was little to no commotion when he trudged out of the U.A. gates, but that was to be expected. After all, most students are eating lunch around this time, chatting with friends and enjoying a break from the their rigorous courses- but Bakugou Katsuki is not most students. That's why he isn't sitting with his peers in the cafeteria, instead the blonde is slouched over, eyes boring holes into the ground as he walks. Furrowed brows, accompanied by a deep and seething scowl on his face keeps the other people on the street at bay; this, he thinks, is how he likes it. His anger a shield between him and others. Between him and Deku. Between him and himself.

His backpack, the one he recalls having kicked against a wall moments after Izuku's figure had turned the corner, is slung around his shoulder. His sleeves are rolled up, and the blazer of his school uniform is wrapped unceremoniously around his waist as he treks through the park near his neighborhood- their neighborhood. The one they've been sharing since they were born.

The asphalt underneath him is hot, the air is stale, and the sky is a vast canvas of blue; an endless expanse of cloudless infinity. Here and there the silhouette of a bird overhead stains the horizon, but other than that it's perfectly clear- well, aside from the stupidly hot, bright as fuck sun. He almost wishes he could blast it the fuck outta the sky, sending the world into pitch darkness; that way he'd never have to look at either Kirishima, Aizawa, or Deku ever again. Alas, there is no such luck, and so the omnipresent star continues its heated assault upon his skin. Sweat beads on his forehead under his bangs, and there's a slight hiss that escapes Katsuki's lips as the perspiration on his hand begins to seep into his raw knuckles. The sting serves as an unpleasant reminder of the self-loathing he'd felt back at school.

Summer is near; only a couple months away, and he can almost taste the approaching heatwave the season brings with it. Taking a sharp right he wanders into a place he knows all too well. For the first time since his journey began he finally looks around, taking in the familiar surroundings. The trees are still in bloom, greens and pinks dashing his vision as he gazes upon them, an uncharacteristic calmness enveloping his once seething form. From the corner of his eye he sees an old and worn bench- the very bench he knows, and as a child, had claimed as his own. He grimaces- not due to the heat, but rather because of the memories flooding his mind. He remembers hunting bugs in this very park with him; recalls their shared ice pops in the wake of the scorching heat. Katsuki feels his heart pang in a way it's never done before when reflecting on the many adventures they'd had as kids. He doesn't know what this feeling is, but the moment he forces the aching in his chest to subside he knows who to blame. Deku. Aka a stupid, insignificant pebble on the side of the road. Picture after picture of his time shared with Izuku explode in front of him, swarming his senses as he's bombarded with the smells, sights, and sounds of the past. It's making the relatively empty park feel cramped, like an airtight cage where his body is doused in gasoline- set aflame when he halts in front of an old, rusted chain-link fence.

 _'This fucking place…'_

 _ **BOOM-**_  
With one final pop of an explosion the last lock on the fence falls to the ground, and Katsuki couldn't be more proud. That is, until his friends chime in their praises of "Wow!" and "Whoa, that was awesome!" Suddenly, he finds that his capacity for being full of himself is endless. He puffs his chest out, it's filled with pride and self confidence, and Katsuki's certain there's no better feeling in the world than that- than success. A huge grin breaks out across his features, and he's quick to point a thumb back at himself as he turns to face his mediocre group of 'heroes,' though he's more content by thinking of them as his sidekicks. "What did ya expect? My quirk is amazing. Now c'mon, let's go kill the enemy!" He points ahead, the hunger for triumph set ablaze in his eyes as he saunters through the gate he's recently vandalized. He and his friends readily ignore the signs of danger that read "beware" posted all around the fence. Correction: he ignores them. The others can't read, instead following him blindly as they trust his judgment. He can read (of course), he frankly just doesn't care one bit about any possible 'dangers.'

He feels amazing. He's not on top of the world- right here, right now with everyone else following behind him, listening to him- he _is_ the world. Nothing can destroy this moment for him. Nothing-

"K...Kacchan, we really shouldn't go in here!" Deku squeaks out, having ditched his place at the end of the line in order to press to Katsuki's side, tugging at the other's sleeve in an attempt to make him stop. The intrusion doesn't bug him- after all, who cares about what Deku thinks? Can Deku even think? Katsuki muses that he can't- at the moment he's quirkless; at the moment he's nothing to him. "Pfft-" His laugh is cut short as he feels the others trailing behind him come to a stop. "Eh? What are you guys doing?" He whirls around, red eyes demanding and perplexed as he watches them all shuffle their feet in the dirt, embarrassment evident on their faces.

"W-Well, the signs did have a skull and crossbones on it! My mommy told me that means it's bad...right?" One child pipes up, his statement followed by enthusiastic nods from the other two. Katsuki's eyes dart back and forth between the desperate look Izuku's giving him, fists still bunched into the fabric of his shirt, and the other three kids' wary faces.

"I...I wanna go home-" Irritation pools into his gut, and his once determined eyes turn agitated as he lets off a few small explosions in his right hand. "Why?! Just 'cause of what stupid Deku said? Deku can't even read- none of you can," He yanks his shoulder away from Izuku, glaring at him while doing so. "And I can, and my quirk's the best, and I said we're gonna go kill the enemy! So stop bein' scaredy cats, we're heroes and with my quirk nothing could ever happen to us!" He stomps his foot for emphasis, a pleased smirk etching its way back onto his face when the others seem to think it over and are, ultimately, swayed by his radiating confidence. He's about to whip around and continue his march into the shrubbery when he notices a flop of green still hovering close to his side.

"Can I walk up here with you, Kacchan? The back is scary..."

"Huh? No way, Deku! You're just makin' these big babies nervous! Weakest in the back, that's always been the rule. And you're always the weakest, so scram." Katsuki orders, the statement rolling off his tongue matter of factly as he points to the back of the line. There's not much malice in it, though- these are just facts. Deku is quirkless. Deku is weak. Deku is last. Plain and simple. He doesn't bother to watch the disappointment wash over Izuku- wouldn't care even if he had seen it. If he was going to be his sidekick then he'd just have to suck it up and listen. Izuku complies, and they're off once more; marching in tandem to Katsuki's chants.

They go on this way for a few minutes, the previous events far from his mind when he begins to lead his band of heroes across a fallen tree trunk; it connects one end of the creek to the other. The 'sidekicks' slow their pace, trying to balance themselves as they pass over the mild waters. Their fearless leader, however, does not compromise his pace and therefore doesn't notice the slippery moss until one careless step causes his ankle to roll underneath him. The slip startles him, and the second he no longer feels a solid surface beneath him his heart skips a beat. Anxiety pools into the lower part of his abdomen and his breath hitches. He feels it happening- the fall, his head knocking against the tree trunk as he descends, accompanied by the way his ankle throbs when he flops into the water. The incident leaves him in a slight daze as the cold stream conflicts with his heated skin, hand coming up to rub the back of his head instinctively. It hurts- but it doesn't last long. His friends' laughter is what snaps him back to reality, and he can't help but grin up at them when they simply assume he's fine. _'They don't care.'_ He was elated at the realization that the other kids hadn't noticed the flicker of fear on his face when he fell. Otherwise, they mighta said something about it- and he didn't want that. Didn't need them to care. That's what it meant to be the best of the best- "I'll be up in a minute," -no one ever worried about you.

"Kacchan! Are you hurt?" No one except Midoriya Izuku.

Crimson eyes pry open, darting over to the river bank next to him. What- no, who he sees there shocks him. Narrowed pupils lock onto the boy's extended hand, confusion evident as it swims in pools of red. When he finally manages to pull his gaze up to Izuku's face, what he sees is something foreign to him. Green eyes are wide, brows turned down in an almost saddened expression. That gaze is filled with something, deep and genuine, too intimate for Katsuki's liking. It makes his skin crawl- what the hell is that? Worry. Concern. Pity. There's a moment where he's unsure of how to react. Why? Why is weak, quirkless Deku concerned over him? He's strong. He's resilient. He's destined for greatness- everyone agrees, and no one has to waste their time worrying over Katsuki. Not the teachers, not his parents, and certainly not a loser like Izuku. Unless…

 _Deku had questioned his decision to enter the gate._  
 _Deku had tried to walk in the front of the line with him._  
 _Deku was trying to pull him out of the water._

"Kacchan-" There's a loud, audible splash as Katsuki rushes forward, slapping the other boy's freckled hand away.  
"SHUT. UP." The skin on skin contact startles the other, causing Izuku to visibly jump back as he narrowly avoids another smack- this one aimed for his head.  
"W-Wait, I just wanted to help! Falling can hurt, Kaccha-"  
"WHAT?! YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? I DON'T NEED YOU. NO ONE DOES. GO BE WORTHLESS SOMEWHERE ELSE."

 _Bzzt._  
 _Bzzzt._  
 _Bzzzzt._  
A vibration in his pocket is what pulls him from the reverie, gaze slipping with the slightest hesitation from the frame of that old fence down to his thigh. When he pulls the device from his pant's pocket he notices his palms are clammy, and that his stomach is rumbling with a tell-tale sign of hunger. He did skip lunch...Speaking of skipping, as he clicks the screen on he notices that not only had the time gotten away from him, but apparently his close 'acquaintances' had all thought it would be cool to text him the same fucking thing. Multiple. Times.

 **Shitty-Hair:**  
Ya not eatin w/ us? **[ 10:33 am ]**  
Saved you a seat, js! ;^) you comin? **[ 10:50 am ]**  
Guess not haha **[ 11:17 am ]**  
Ik your mad but you should probably show up soon bro **[ 11:19 am ]**  
you're* whoops. **[11:19 am]**  
Yoooo bakugou where you at? Class started. All Might doesn't like us bein late. **[ 11:53 am ]**

 **Asshido:**  
hey hey hey hey hey hey hey! **[ 11:01 am ]**  
BAkuuuUUUGOUOUOUOUOUUU donut be a babyyyy **[ 11:23 am ]**  
(/)o A o(\\) r you skipping n didnt invite me? meanieeee **[ 11:51 am ]**

 **Dumbass battery:**  
i'm warming your seat with my ass **[ 10:55 am ]**  
ur tantrum ain't over yet lol? **[ 11:59 am ]**  
lol looks like a drowning dude #illuminaticonfirmed **[ 12:00 pm ]**

 **Tape fucker:**  
Obligatory 'where are you text,' but I'm sure you're just off being emo :-D **[ 11:57 am ]**

An anger similar to the one he'd relived mere moments ago at the thought of Deku's blatant childhood attack on his pride bubbled up; red eyes scanning the various texts with an increasingly aggravated scowl. What a bunch of fucking idiots, pestering him- and for what? He hardly replied when they texted him about important shit, what made them think he'd waste his time responding to this patronizing garbage?

Katsuki's grip on the phone tightened as he shoved it haphazardly back into his pocket. He grit his teeth. Not right now. Not today- and surely not before he ate. Looking up he scanned the area, shaking his head in aggravation whenever he'd see something reminiscent of his childhood; a time in his life that included an overbearing amount of that broccoli looking fuck. Why- why, even after all these years, does Deku still somehow manage to follow him everywhere? As a child he'd refused to leave Katsuki alone, and even now his memory still trails after him. It's been over a decade. Over a fucking decade and yet Izuku is still such a prominent factor in his life, despite all his efforts to push him away.

 _'Why do ya hate Midoriya so much?'_

The question rings like a chime in his head. An annoying chime that he would crush given the chance. Yet he almost contemplates it, almost answers that question to himself- that is, until his stomach growls. "Fuck this shit, I'm going home." The utterance is meant to sound agitated, intended to carry the brash attitude he's known for, but even to his own ears it sounds devoid of anything but exhaustion. Sighing, he storms out of the park. He's tired. Fuck school, fuck Aizawa, fuck Kirishima, and fuck Deku. Exiting the park he all but launches into a sprint when he passes the Midoriya residence, tightening his grip on the strap of his backpack. The backpack Izuku brought him- _'FUCK.'_

"If I never even think that name again it'll be too goddamn soon," He growls, glare locking onto the approaching target. He doesn't need any of this shit right now, all he needs is a big ass bowl of ebi chiri, and some peace and fucking quiet. Is that too much to fucking ask for? To say he launched up the front steps would be an understatement, for in a matter of seconds from reaching his driveway he's already slamming the front door open, throwing his bag at the wall ( **hard** ) and kicking his shoes off his feet.

"The fuck?! Masaru, is that you, honey?"  
 _'God. Fucking. Damnit.'_  
Mom's home.


	3. Fears

"What the hell are you doing home?" A voice rings out from the kitchen, the robust volume of it just barely subsiding before the source of the inquiry comes into view. The moment Mitsuki steps out into the hallway, Katsuki's focus shifts from where his bag sags heavily against the wall towards the other's figure. Her hands are set firmly on her hips, one jutted out further than the other in order to emphasis her growing displeasure as she gazes upon her son; eyes distinctly red, like his own. "I know your ass ain't supposed to be off yet, so what gives, brat?"

"I fucking live here, hag. Why else?" He all but spits, eyes narrowing in annoyance as he avoids the question entirely. She's going to be furious regardless of the answer he gives- and what answer would he even give? 'I got mad because my friend with shitty hair asked me a loaded question'? What a fucking joke. It doesn't matter, though- she never hears him out. Never tries to understand the motives behind his actions, instead summing up his reasons as poor excuses. Any attempt to explain the situation gets shut down with yelling and violence, unless his dad steps in to mediate, but even then they never talk anything out. It's funny, he muses, that neither parent really gets him. He and his father are nothing alike, and he and his mother are too similar. They're both _too_ aggressive. _Too_ stubborn. _Too_ dominating. So what's the fucking point? They're going to fight, Katsuki knows that, so he might as well blow off some steam in the process.

"I'm home, I'm not leaving, so mind your own fucking business." And with that utterance, Katsuki's left glaring at the only person in his life whose temper rivals his own. There's a tell-tale twitch of her eye as she processes her son's words, and right on cue Mistuki's hands drop to her sides. He watches as anger overtakes her, demeanor morphing from a demanding one to a festering, volatile storm of ire. Fists clenched, she all but marches over, the fire in her eyes becoming increasingly apparent when she leans in; face mere inches from Katsuki's own.

"Mind my own business?! You are my fucking business, you little shitrag! Now you tell me why the fuck you're home early or so God help me, I will beat your ass into next week." A bitter laugh bubbles up in his gut, spilling out with a wave of arrogance as a smug smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, right. You and your moisturizing quirk?" That aforementioned smile cracks into a huge, toothy grin; gums bared in an almost snarl like manner as he stares defiantly into his mother's eyes. When Mitsuki's glare intensifies, so does the tension in the room. It's thick and heavy. The next words to tumble from his mouth are dripping in unabashed hubris. _"Bring it."_

When Masaru Bakugou enters his home, what he finds is odd- alarming, even. There's feathers everywhere, the coffee table is flipped over carelessly, and for some unknown reason the couch is devoid of any pillows. Regardless of how peculiar the sight before him is, the sounds enveloping the household are (unfortunately) very normal. Screaming. Yelling. Cussing. When he first stepped through the door, the commotion had caught him off-guard; the words being strewn around muddling together with the noises of the outside world. The moment it had shut, however, the uproar within the house became crystal clear. They're fighting. Great.

"PISS OFF, YOU OLD BAT." A sudden movement catches his eye, his son's form bursting from the kitchen as Katsuki all but launches past him, followed shortly by a cushion whizzing right by Masaru's head. Just as quickly as Katsuki had emerged from the doorway, so does Mitsuki- face scrunched in concentration as she reels her arm back, pillow in hand.

"YOU BETTER RUN, BITCH, THE NEXT ONE AIN'T MISSING-" He sighs, chuckling lightly to himself. They're pillow fighting. the instant her crimson eyes fall upon her husband, her course changes- ditching the chase in order to meet Masaru by the door. "Oh, hi, honey!" A quick peck is placed to the side of his scruffy cheek. "Here, take this-" The cushion she had previously aimed for Katsuki's head is shoved haphazardly into his arms, the force of it skewing the glasses that now sit lopsidedly on the bridge of his nose.

"We needa teach our asshole kid a lesson." Weirdly enough, he obliges.

The moment his mother had enlisted the help of his father, Katsuki knew he'd need a strategy. Unfortunately, with a "no exploding shit in the house" rule, said strategy consisted primarily of hiding; so that's what he was doing. It was guerrilla warfare, really. The blonde would hide, his parents would find him, then both parties would mutually attack before he'd go into hiding once more. However, the longer this went on the more aware he became that this battle would soon be coming to an end. The house was a constrained area, and Katsuki knew he was slowly running out of cover.

The cycle of parents versus son had been going for almost two hours now, neither party wanting to relent to the other. An hour ago, Katsuki had been certain of his inevitable victory. He, after all, had copious amounts of energy and plenty of competitive anger to fuel him- not to mention he was young and therefore physically fitter than both his enemies. That was, however, an hour ago. As of right now, while he's sprinting down the hallway that connects his parents' room to the dining area, the blonde finds he's not too sure of himself. So far he'd hidden in all the bathrooms, ducked into the pantry numerous times, zipped over the counter tops, and hopped the railing of the stairs on more than one occasion.

His legs are burning, every step causing an explosion of pain to course upwards, accompanied not only by the sound of his feet bombarding the ground, but also with a dull, acidic sting in his thighs. There's sweat dripping down his face, soaking his shirt as he breathes in controlled, yet fiery breaths; it's the kind he hates, the ones that simmer in the back of his throat with a raw heat every time he opens his mouth. Judging by the far off panting of his parents, Katsuki knows that this is the time to conceal himself- and with that thought in mind he takes a skidding turn into the first opening he sees: the kitchen.

Back pressed to the cool metal of the fridge, red eyes peer out from the side of the pantry door- the one he'd flung open in order to act as a shield. Scanning for any movement to indicate his enemies are on the move, and suspiciously neither seeing or hearing anything, Katsuki releases a breath he was unaware he was holding. For the next few minutes he sits there, on guard as he continues to keep his attention glued to the doorway. At first, the break from constant movement is thoroughly appreciated, body sagging back to lean on the fridge when he relaxes his tensed muscles...but as five minutes turns into ten and there's still no sign of either his mom or dad, frustration begins to bloom. Another painstaking five minutes go by, agitated crimson eyes darting between the digital clock on the microwave and the entrance of the kitchen where his parents should have come through fifteen minutes ago. Patience is a virtue that Katsuki does not have.

The second the clock indicates another minute has passed, a lightly tanned hand presses the pantry door shut, and the blonde finds himself crawling silently on his hands and knees. Fuck it, if they're not gonna come get him, he's just gonna make a run for his room. On the wall opposite of the doorway that connects the kitchen to the hall sits the stairs, a symbol of hope; If he can make it there before his parents reappear, then Katsuki knows he's in the clear. The closer he gets, the less cautious his pace becomes. _'Just a little more!'_ Adrenaline pumps through his veins, the triumphant hammering of his heart resounding loudly through his head- the beating 'thunk' reminiscent of a war drum signalling an impending battle. Heated fingertips press firmly against the wooden floor of the hallway, leaving behind the expanse of tile in the kitchen. The stairs are, now, just barely eight feet away. He's gonna win. He's gonna crush his parents' dreams and take an indisputable victory. _'Almost there, almost there, almost there-'_ **WHAP.**

"Gotcha!"

Katsuki splutters, face contorting in a manner of disgust as the cushion hits him right in his open mouth- the fabric leaving an odd texture on his tongue. Before he can fully process what's happening he feels a sudden weight on his back, something hard pressing into the taut muscle of his shoulders. The first set of knees on his back aren't enough to cause the blonde to buckle, but shortly after the second descends upon him he unceremoniously hits the ground with a resounding flop. His breaths are ragged, chest pressed flush to the floor as the weight on top of him shifts.

 **WHAP, WHAP, WHAP-**

There's a distinct and mingling sound of laughter when the pillow comes down a final time on his head, though his mother's cackling reverberates much louder than his father's deep chuckles. Katsuki groans, shifting his legs to try and push himself back up, to no avail. If he hadn't just spent two hours rampaging around his home, he most certainly could have gotten up; but right here, right now, his arms and legs refused to comply.

"Augh, get off already!" He grumbles, lips pulled into a distinct, sour frown. Strangely enough, however, that scowling expression doesn't reach his eyes, nor does he feel anger surge through him at such a pathetic loss. If anything he feels...at ease- a childish part of him delighted at having held his parents attention for two full hours. Suddenly, as he attempts to suck in a breath, the weight atop him becomes harder to ignore, reminding him of the uncomfortable way his mother's knees are jabbing into his shoulder blade. "Seriously, you're both too heavy for this shit."

"Aw, are ya butthurt that you lost to your 'old' parents? Well, serves you right, brat!" Mitsuki's tone is taunting and smug, but Katsuki's far too tired to even think about giving enough of a shit to retaliate. "Whatever." It's muttered with a trickle of annoyance lacing his words, though he can't help the appreciative breath he takes when both his mother and father stand up, dislodging themselves from his back in the process.

"Not so tough now, huh? Whaddya think of that, Katsuki?" She holds out a helping hand; the sight of it makes his chest feel tight, though the reason as to why eludes him. He decides, however, that he doesn't like the way it's making him feel, so rather than accepting her offer, he pushes himself up instead. Mitsuki rolls her eyes, obviously unfazed by his rejection, yet- for a split second- he can't help but note the disappointment that lingers on her features. A seed of guilt sprouts in his stomach, but before it can bloom into a flower of remorse he rips it out, tossing it aside like a weed.

Who fucking cares? She shouldn't get her feelings hurt over dumb shit- he's perfectly capable of getting up by himself.

"I think you both need a diet, fucking lardasses." The statement is bitter, but his mother simply grins in response. "And I think you need a shower, you look like a sweaty pig." Cheeks light aflame, the tips of the blonde's ears turning a shade darker as he glances down at his soaked shirt. He can't help but clench his fists, the humiliation simmering into an prideful anger at her statement. "Yeah, yeah, whatever! Don't die of old age while I'm showering, hag, I still want to eat." And with that Katsuki turns towards the stairs, blocking out his mother's incessant nagging about how 'she's not his personal chef' with a string of childish and undignified 'blahblahblahs.'

The instant steaming water hits his back, Katsuki can't help the sigh that escapes his lips. His muscles ache as the tension within them washes away, all of his weight resting heavily on the arm that's currently pressed to the wall. The tile is still cool, though, as the hot shower water continues to pour out he can feel condensation beginning to form underneath the palm of his hand- the very same one he'd planted into the wall at school. The sensation is strangely similar to that of how it feels to use his quirk; dewy liquid covering the expanse of his rough, calloused fingers. There's a slight sting, the heated spray trickling into the raw flesh of his knuckles, but the pain garners little to no reaction. If anything, it soothes him, for while Katsuki does not understand emotions well, he sure as hell knows the ins and outs of punching. A key factor of such being injuries- whether it be bruising the meatier area of one's palm, fracturing a bone from improper form, or even simply skinning your knuckles as he'd done earlier. These are the topics where he finds comfort; regions of thought where pesky things like Deku didn't bother him.

 _'Why do ya hate Midoriya so much?'_ The question rings once more throughout his head, Kirishima's voice mingling with the images of a green, curly haired shitnerd; the very same one whose essence had ailed Katsuki all day long.

Slowly, weary red eyes shut; head hanging lowly as the hot water begins to gush into a messy mop of blonde hair, before, subsequently, streaming down his neck. Usually Katsuki's showers are swift- no more than a quick lathering of his body and hair, followed by a thorough rinse. However, today was far from a normal day. As thoughts of Izuku continued to flood his mind an undeniable twinge of annoyance at his own tendency to avoid the ever looming question began to ignite. Why was he trying so hard to ignore that stupid fucking question? Why did it bother him that goddamn much that he couldn't bring himself to even contemplate the answer? Why did the truth that he didn't hate stupid, shitty Deku elicit such a disgusting amount of fear?

 _…'I don't hate Deku.'_

No, what Bakugou Katsuki felt towards Midoriya Izuku was much, much worse.

 _'I'm fucking scared of him?'_

What in all the seven fucking hells did someone as great as him have to fear from someone as meak as Izuku? He's stronger than Deku, not to mention faster- hell, he's even smarter, too. But, _fuck,_ he isn't half as heroic; isn't nearly as similar to All Might as that fucking nerd. His idol- no- _their_ idol is a smiling, shining beacon of fucking hope and _goddamn it_ Katsuki knows he can't achieve that. Memories of the sports festival flash through his mind like a crack of lightning in the evening sky. The booing crowd and countless jabs at his 'villainous' personality all but punch him straight in the gut; though it's the way they cheered over a flustered, crying Izuku that really hurts. He's weak. So why does it seem like everyone and their great-great-great fucking grandparents love him?

Praise him?

Idolize him?

He can't understand it- Katsuki always thought he had being a hero down to an art. He aced the entrance exam, and despite his rage towards not having an indisputable victory over that stupid peppermint looking fuck at the festival, he still won the damn thing- so why? Why did Izuku, who sucked ass at everything, soar so high above him? Why had it been Izuku who saved him from that nasty-ass sludge villain?

 _'Wow, Kacchan, that was amazing!'_

The phrase the other had been chanting practically all their lives sends a tidal wave of anger through Katsuki's veins, forcing his eyes open as he glares intensely at the soaking floor beneath him. What a steaming pile of bullshit. Deku had been taunting him for years.

He doesn't hate him though; no, he just hates his kind. Stupid fucking hope-thumpers who can't accept their goddamn fate. The world isn't a happy place, you can't just wish to be important. No amount of squandering for support or love will get anyone anywhere. Deku was quirkless. Deku was weak. Deku was beneath him. Yet that dumbfuck just couldn't accept that- couldn't stop chasing after Katsuki and their shared dream of being number one. At fourteen, it hadn't mattered. He had seen no way for Izuku to ever bridge the space that separated them. But now? Now the gap between them, the ravine of sheer difference in skill, was closing at an alarming rate- and that fucking killed him inside.

Suddenly, he bristled. "FUCK, IT'S COLD! STUPID, FUCKING SHOWER-" cranking the knob to 'off,' Katsuki bares his teeth as a shiver crawls its way down his spine. "Goddamn, how long was I in here? Stupid Deku, being so shitty and distracting.." The blonde continued to mutter under his breath, stepping out of the shower and onto the mat. He quickly ruffled the towel through his hair, then drying the rest of his body, before wrapping it around his waist. _'Great'._ In his haste to get clean, thanks to the hag's teasing, he'd forgotten to grab clothes. Throwing the door open with a natural demeanor of sheer agitation, Katsuki briskly stomped towards his room- goosebumps rising on his skin when the cool air nipped at his flesh. Speed-walking into the bedroom, he's quick to yank open the drawer that sits to the left of his bed; pulling out boxers, a black tank-top, and a pair of matching joggers. While throwing on his ensemble, the smell of food wafts up from the downstairs area, causing the boy's stomach to growl. As if it were right on cue, his mother calls for him- something akin to "Dinner's almost ready, punk, come set up the table." Bitch is lucky he's too hungry to argue.

Katsuki clears the last step, hands shoved into his pockets as he wanders leisurely into the kitchen. Making his way over to the cabinet, he pulls out three plates, three blows, and yanks some chopsticks from the cupboard below. There's an unusual air of peace in the house. Mitsuki is stirring a pot of curry, occasionally checking on the karaage next to it, while his father is reaching into a drawer to pull out a ladle for the soup. Aside from the mingling sounds of the pots and pans clanking around, as well as the bubbling of different foods cooking on the stove top, there's a comfortable silence enveloping area. He can't help but appreciate the sight, oddly basking in the feeling of harmony that's triangulating between the three of them. This feels...nice. Weird, and kinda scary, but nice.

Just as he sets the last plate down there's a gentle rapping at the front door. "Katsuki, go get it." He rolls his eyes, but gives no further argument as he walks out of the kitchen. "Bakugou residence, what do you want-" The moment the door swings open Katsuki's hit with a radiating sight. The slowly setting sun casts an orange glow across the the street, encasing the shorter boy's figure in a soft, angelic light. The warmth bounces off the splattering of freckles that dust the other's cheeks, his tanned, caramel skin glowing vibrantly in the sun. Green, unruly hair is ever changing, shades ranging from jade, to that of bright spring leaves, as it blows carelessly in the wind; and it's a positively stunning sight. Hesitant, viridescent eyes keep avoiding his own fiery gaze, darting down to the pile of books the other is pushing forwards; and Katsuki can barely keep himself from gawking. The overwhelming sensation of _whatever this is_ , is too much, and so the blonde grabs the edge of the door, pulling it slightly closer in order to act as a shield between him and the radiating sensation the view floods him in.

"What the fuck are you doing here, shitty Deku?" Katsuki utters bitterly, yet before Izuku can even begin to form a retort the door is swung wide open, Mitsuki's hand coming to whap the back of Katsuki's head with a resounding thud. "You fucking punk, who the hell do you think you are, answering the door like that? I know I taught your ass some manners! Now..." Suddenly, her piercing red eyes shift from her son's fuming face over to the previously ignored figure when Izuku shifts his backpack awkwardly from one shoulder to the other. "Oh, heya, kiddo. What brings you here- w...wait-" Squinting, Mitsuki's eyes begin to dart between the two boys, confusion evident on her face, "...Izuku? Midoriya Izuku?" The realization of who stands before them barrels through her, features lighting up with a sudden excitement as she plants her hands onto his shoulders. "oH MY GOD, IT'S BEEN SO LONG! You've gotten so big, ya little green bean!" A soft hand comes up to ruffle his messy locks of hair, "How's your mom? What school do you go to now? Are you in a support course? I remember Katsuki mentioning you didn't have a quirk-" Izuku's face heats up, flushing as he becomes increasingly flustered at the sudden aggressive, motherly attention; though he's once again cut off from answering any posed questions when Katsuki bangs the side of his hand against the door frame.

"Shut up, hag, he didn't come here to play twenty fuckin' questions with your bitch ass. Now why the hell are you here, Deku?"

"Oh, I, uhm- I just figured since you…y'know, weren't at our last few classes that I'd bring your homework to you! I just didn't want you to fall behind- nOT THAT I THINK YOU WOULD, KACCHAN! I-I know you're really smart," There's a quick, awkward cough that intercepts his rambling, Izuku once more pushing the stack of papers in his hands forward. "Iida had offered to bring it to you, b-but I just figured since you live right down the street…that...I could?" The way those green eyes peer up at him with a questioning, almost fearful look hits the blonde with a wave of nostalgia; specifically memories from middle school. Though, he's ripped from his daze by another hard whack to the back of his head, along with a yank at the hem of his shirt that all but drags him back into the depths of his home. "Excuse us, will ya, Izuku? Just for a sec, honey-" Slamming the door shut to where it's only ajar enough for a sliver to light to peek in, Mitsuki pokes a sharp finger into Katsuki's chest. Despite the hushed tone, her words are laced with a venomous disgust. "You ungrateful little fucking dirtbag! This kid walks all the way to our house after years of not being invited over to give you YOUR homework that YOU missed because YOUR stupid ass decided to skip, and you talk to him like _that?_ Seriously, what the fuck has gotten into you? You're gonna invite him inside for dinner and be a good fucking friend or you're in biiig trouble, ya little bitch. I'm gonna go set up the food, and if that kid isn't inside, feeling welcomed when I come back your ass is gonna be sorry." With a final jab at his pectoral, Mitsuki stalks off into the direction of the kitchen, anger evident in her demeanor as she places everything down with a loud clang.

Rage doesn't even begin to describe the emotions he's feeling, though admittedly there's a hint of guilt sprouting in his stomach, too. Unlike the first time it had occurred when looking at his mother's disappointed expression, this time he doesn't uproot it; doesn't yank it out like a weed. Instead, Katsuki chokes down the uncomfortable squirming it causes in his guts, focusing on Deku's stupid face as he gently pulls the door back open. Gritting his teeth, he lets out a ragged sigh, averting his eyes from Izuku's own.

"Do you fuckin-" His fists clench, grabbing the offered gift with as much self restraint as he can muster. Once the stack of papers is tucked under his left arm, Katsuki steps aside, making way for the other to come in. Gaze shifting to properly look the other boy in the face, he unclenches his jaw, attempting to appear as relaxed as possible.

"Deku...do you want to stay for dinner?"


	4. Praises

The moment Izuku entered the house, everything changed.

It was as if the second those signature red sneakers carried him through the barrier of the front door that the tranquility which had once radiated off the small family broke. Their emotions were in all sorts of disarray- various moods and signals bouncing off the walls as his parents attempted to welcome Izuku into their home.

Simultaneously, they were also being annoying as shit, trying their damned hardest to get Katsuki involved, and it was pissing him off. Since when had hospitality been a selling point of his personality? Fucking never.

Masaru was busy setting up a spot at the table for their guest, while Mitsuki chatted him up with a pushiness that was all too typical of her.

She was clearly fond of the other boy, speaking to him in a manner that was uncharacteristically gentle and sweet- a kind of attitude that Katsuki had only ever seen directed at his father. He wondered if maybe she was trying to compensate for his ill-will towards Izuku; the sugary inflection in her voice a means of apologizing on her son's behalf. Was she guilty for his words? Or was it the bruises? How about the way he'd splintered and cracked his childhood friend's self esteem into a billion little pieces?

Maybe she was sorry for all of it- maybe she was remorseful for her son's existence.

That thought alone made his mood grow even more sour, eyes narrowing as he peered towards the idiot next to him. Red, calculating orbs scanned over Izuku's figure- the green hair and bright clothes made him stick out like a sore thumb, sure, but it was the way he carried himself that really painted him in an odd light compared to the rest of the household.

If there was one thing the Bakugous were known for, it was the way they emanated sheer confidence.

His mother's presence had always been composed of two things: strength, and purpose. When she walked in the room, it instantly became her domain; she was a woman that treaded anywhere her feet would take her, and she was unashamed in her conquest of every situation. There was no fear, or hesitance in her demeanor; and if there ever had been, Katsuki was painfully unaware. Bold. Daring. Dominant. These were the key factors that built the foundations of Mitsuki's personality.

His father, however, was the polar opposite in regard to his wife.

Masaru was calm and collected, always level-headed in any situation. Nothing could ever get that man's love for neutrality to break- Katsuki knows that all too well; after all, he had tried to shatter it on numerous occasions. His rebellious nature drove him to not simply push his boundaries, rather, he obliterated them.

Yet no amount of screaming, cursing, or threats had ever proved useful against his father's resolve; Masaru was nothing if not patient. His thinking was reasonable and that, coupled with a calm composure as well as a placid disposition, made him impervious to the tempers of both his wife and child.

All of this, in addition to Katsuki's own aggressive and prideful nature made Izuku look feeble; _weak._ As if his presence in the dining room was a gentle breeze attempting to find its place within the roaring winds of a hurricane. And yet, he- a timid and unimposing person- was held in a higher regard to All Might than Katsuki was.

That made his blood boil.

Suddenly Izuku's smiling face turned away from Mitsuki, bright green eyes locking with the blonde's own as he moved towards him. For a split second, Katsuki feels as if he's been caught- which he supposed he had, since mere moments ago he'd been glaring daggers into the back of Deku's head.

The motion causes him to freeze, if only for a moment, but that's all it takes. How the fuck can he be smiling like _that?_ At a time like _this?_ A spark of anger ignites in his chest, the fire of it pulling his lips down into a deep, brooding scowl. There's a grotesque ferocity that begins to simmer under his skin, forcing him to bury his hands into the fabric of his pockets; it's all he can do to keep from hurling them at that stupid face.

He wants Deku to feel his anger- wants him to understand that regardless of how much his parents dote on him, he is _not_ welcome. He never will be.

"Ah, Kacchan, I was wondering if..." Izuku trails off, form shrinking under the intense, burning stare. Heat rises to the other's cheeks, a rosy hue accentuating the seemingly endless splatter of freckles littering his face. So weak.

A heavy silence settles in the air, an underlying current of unspoken words surging between them with every passing breath. The once mirthful light in Izuku's eyes falters, degrading into nothing but embers as it's smothered beneath the oppressive waves of anger rolling off Katsuki's rigid body.

It's funny, really, how the sight of Deku's wilting happiness is somewhat soothing- if only for the sake of familiarity. Unlike middle school, however, the satisfaction is only skin deep. The way the shorter boy fidgets under his gaze, mouth quivering as he rubs his hands together, is no longer a joyous occasion. It doesn't appease his pride- doesn't stroke his ego the way it used to. Now it's an empty pleasure; unfulfilling and dull. Though, it's easier this way. The more Izuku dislikes him, the farther away he'll stay- and the bigger the distance between them, the better.

The less he sees him, the less he thinks about him, and as of late far too many of his thoughts orbited around shitty Deku.

"What? Spit it out, nerd," It's uttered with as much feigned apathy as he can muster, though he knows his eyes are betraying him. He can tell because Izuku won't meet his gaze, green irises instead focused on the tile beneath their feet. "I ain't got all day."

"I was just wondering if I could borrow your phone? Mine died and I need to call my mom so she knows I'm staying for dinner, is all." The question catches Katsuki off guard, almost laughing at how utterly lame the sentiment is. Lame and dorky, though good natured; typical Deku.

The seething anger from before is (slightly) subdued, but the instinctive urge to say no- to reject Izuku- still lingers. However, his mother's sideward glances from where she's pouring the last bowl of miso on the table tells him that refusal is not an option. Thus, he sighs, fishing the device from the depths of his pocket listlessly.

"Whatever- here." It's held out with little care, though as Izuku's eyes all but shoot up to meet his own, even someone as emotionally-insensitive as Katsuki can practically see the ecstaticism bubbling within them; shining like a beacon of hope. It's disturbingly auroral, and he swears if Deku doesn't stop he'll sucker punch the shit outta him.

It doesn't stop.  
He doesn't throw that punch.

"Thank you, Kacchan!" The boy's excitement is clear as day, all hesitation washing away as he gingerly takes the offered cell phone with a warm, sincere smile.

Katsuki can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle when that sugary grin tugs at his lips, or how uncharacteristically at ease his demeanor becomes- can't tear himself from the sight of Deku's bright, giddy expression. _Fuck_ , he can't breathe. Something in his chest tightens, a blistering heat pooling into his ribcage; at first, the emotion eludes him. However, as he continues to study every feature on the other's dorky, freckled face, the blonde is quick to come to the conclusion that it's disgust he's feeling.

It clogs his airway, the suffocation reminiscent of how he'd almost drowned in sludge a year and a half ago. Just as they had back then, his lungs are howling- begging for him to inhale, but the only thought rampaging through his skull is a repetitive chant of ' _Gross. Gross. Gross-'_

"Boys, it's time to eat."

Masaru's mellow voice calling from the dinner table is ultimately what frees him from the awful sensation that ugly ass smile had elicited; startled red eyes finally able to rip away from the honeyed curve of Izuku's lips.

For a moment, it feels as if he's not in his body- the world silent and still aside from the sound of blood gushing through his veins, roaring loudly like a raging storm.

' _Gross.'_

That moment is gone within an instant, and suddenly he crashes back into his own being with an earth shattering blow- the deafening silence broken by the coalescing sounds of the silverware clanking and his parents talking.

Izuku bombards the keys, dialing Inko's number in blissful ignorance; hands lightly scarred, and dusted heavily with sun kisses. Katsuki's own dampen in a cold sweat.

' _Holy shit.'_

The tar clogging his throat dissipates, washing away with it the acidic sting eroding his lungs. He takes an appreciative breath, the inhale rapid and shallow; nerves settling when the warmth in his chest is quelled. In its wake, he's left feeling strangely empty; ribcage hollow in the absence of fading... _disgust_. There is no crippling heat, no explosive anger- just nothingness, and it bugs him.

Face contorting, the bewildered expression previously plastered on the boy's features cracks into one of displeasure. ' _What the fuck was that?'_ Regardless of the answer, Katsuki didn't enjoy the experience one fucking bit- and he sure as hell wasn't sticking around for it to happen again.

Turning promptly on his heel, he stomped towards the table, figure followed by the loud thunk of harsh steps upon the wooden floors. Before reaching his seat, he throws a backward glance at Izuku, who, judging by the impatient way he's rocking on the balls of his feet, is waiting for his mom to answer.

"Hurry up. I'm not eating cold food just cause you're slow as shit, Deku."

The chair squeaks against the floor as it's pulled out, the blonde planting himself down with a heavy thud. Katsuki's stomach growls- the combination of both seeing the feast laid out before him, as well as the enchanting aroma, reminding him with a painful vengeance that he'd skipped lunch.

He's about to snatch a pair of chopsticks and begin shoveling food into his mouth, when a hard kick in the shin pulls his attention upward- sanguine eyes locking with Mitsuki's. "What the hell was that for?"

"Your buddy is still on the phone, so don't even think about starting before everyone else."

He snorts, face scrunching into a sneer. " _I_ gotta wait because _he's_ calling his fucking mo-"

The light thudding of feet signifies Deku's impending arrival, and suddenly Katsuki becomes increasingly aware that his parents had placed a spot for their (unwelcomed) guest right next to his own. Eyeing the plateware adjacent to him, he can't help but glare. Fucking idiots. Did they think seating the bane of his existence mere inches to his left would make him more friendly?

Despite being mildly distracted by hunger, there's an undeniable feeling of unease devouring him; nerves exploding every time he so much as hears the other boy breathe. Whatever the fuck had transpired between the milliseconds it took for him to simply look away from that shitnerd's face earlier had been too much. Too foreign. Too unidentifiable. Too intimate.

The incident had jarred him, leaving Katsuki with an unusual sense of vulnerability; a part of him worried that Izuku had seen his panicked expression. Though, more than likely he hadn't, considering that otherwise he probably would have mentioned it. Deku was annoying that way, always asking questions that didn't fucking pertain to him- shoving his nose in other people's business because "he wanted to help."

Mentally, Katsuki all but spits in disgust; a particularly hot, humid day from elementary school coming to mind. He remembers the crunch of hot gravel beneath rubber soles, hears the creaking metal of playground swings nearby, and recalls the pitiful whimpering of the boy who cowered behind a trembling Izuku.

" _That's so mean, Kacchan!"_ He'd cried out, " _I won't l-let you hurt him!"_

Goddamn it- he remembers everything about that stupid summer day. The heat. The stale air. The stupid little fucker that had challenged him, though more specifically how it had felt to drag him across the yard by his matted, purple hair. The rest of the children watched with great interest, eyes wide and attentive as they kept a safe distance from the commotion.

Katsuki had been nearly through in teaching that eggplant-headed shit a lesson when Izuku just _had_ to step in. It had been so pathetic- so fucking annoying, the way he was practically pissing himself while insisting on being a hero. And for what? To get his ass handed to him? ' _Idiot.'_

That incident was the first time he'd ever hit Deku; although it hadn't been the last.

Katsuki's fingers twitch, body alert with the memories of when his fist had first made contact with the tender flesh of a tanned cheek; followed by a resounding thud as Izuku hit the ground. It had bruised like a bitch- and part of him wonders if it had been worth it. Had failing not only himself, but also the boy he'd been 'protecting,' make him feel good? Had he saved the day like All Might?

" _When I grow up, I'm gonna be a hero just like him!"_

What a load of shit. The thought is bitter, though the blonde's attention is uprooted when the chair beside him is shifted, and Izuku seats himself.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your phone, Kacchan," The device is placed gently on the table, mere centimeters from Katsuki's hand, "and sorry for keeping everyone waiting!"

-

At first, it wasn't so bad. His mother hadn't so much as asked Izuku a question, let alone buried him in inquiries the way he'd expected. No, instead a natural silence engulfed the table, the mixing sounds of gentle breaths and silverware clinking filling the void. It was partially because everyone was too busy eating to say much, though he hadn't planned on speaking anyways. There was no point- with Deku around, what small verbal filter he did possess simply crumbled away into nothingness.

Katsuki was relatively at ease as he delved into his food, the explosion of flavors eliciting a pleased hum as he chewed vigorously. His mother had her faults, being a nagging cunt and all, but _damn_ she could cook.

She could also read his fucking mind, apparently, because just as the thought began to fade out, Mitsuki's voice breaks the peace. "How is it?" Her expression is bright with impatience, eyes expectant and shining; a clear undertone of confidence welling up within them.

"Shitty." He pops a piece of chicken into his mouth, and Izuku splutters wildly next to him- arms flailing as he gawked in disbelief.

"That's so rude, Kac-" Katsuki flicks a warning glare at the other, and the childhood nickname practically dies on Deku's tongue; green eyes averting the blonde's own before a fumbling, sheepish smile blooms on his face. "Well," It's uttered quietly, "I think the food is great."

What a spineless fucking kiss-up.

"Thanks, kiddo- but, don't worry, Mr. Hard-ass over there is full of shit. He's been stuffing his face like a pig." She grins, and a look of pure indignation breaks out across Katsuki's features; quickly turning to rage when both Masaru and Izuku let out snorts of laughter.

"She's got a point there, son." His father chimes in, the lingering lines of a smile still visible on his face as Masaru adjusts his glasses.

"Did I fuckin' ask? No, so shut up, you wrinkly fucks- and _you,_ " The urge to slam that stupid green-haired shit's head into the table is overwhelming, so he opts to slam a hand upon the mahogany instead, "don't you _ever_ fucking laugh at me."

It's slight, but Izuku stiffens and for a moment, his gaze widens; what bugs him, though, is that Katsuki can't tell if it's out of annoyance, fear, or a weird combination of the two.

"Oh, get a sense of humor, dickhead. Of course he laughed, I'm funny." Carmine eyes peer at him from across the table, Mitsuki throwing him a pointed, though unimpressed, look. "It's not Izuku's fault that you eat like you were raised in a barn- and don't fucking do that shit to my table!"

God, he just wants to blow it all to fucking bits. The table, the food, Deku, his house, the world- but he can't. He can't, no, instead he has to sit there and let them look down on him- let Izuku's judging, weary eyes pick him apart like some kind of fucking shrink.

Instinctively his fingers snap shut into a tight fist, steam slithering its way out from the cracks between his digits. He needs to hit something- anything, though perferablly the shitrag next to him. They're all watching him, and Katsuki feels his body shaking with unbridled rage; lips curling in a snarl as a string of curses and haughty words fester in the back of his throat. Goddamn it. _Goddamn it._ _**God-fucking-damn it**_ -

Shit. There's a sudden rumble from his abdomen, stomach growling for what seemed like the upteenth time that day, and the fire in his veins dies- he's too tired, not to mention too hungry, to fucking care anymore.

He peers down at the fist planted firmly on the table, opening and closing his once scalding hand, and subsequently observing the last whispers of smoke dissipate. Noting the indents where his nails had dug into the coarse expanse of his palm, he grabs the previously forgotten chopsticks and resumes eating.

' _It's not worth it.'_

Apathetic red eyes land on Izuku.

' _You're not worth it._

-

He's not listening, not to a goddamn word. Rather than partaking in whatever dumb conversation they're having, Katsuki occupies himself by shoveling food into his mouth- every chew coming down with a harsh grind of his teeth as he absentmindedly glares at the plate below.

His parents laugh and Izuku grins, but the topic eludes him, so he aims to subside his growing annoyance by choking down another mouthful of curry. Eh, it should have been spicier.

Aside from the irritation that spikes every time the other boy so much as breathes, Katsuki's mind is predominantly blank; the only thought currently circulating being a sense of urgency. The faster he finishes his food, the faster dinner will be over, and the faster dinner ends, the faster shitty Deku will get out of his fucking house.

"So, Midoriya, you also go to U.A.?" Masaru inquires, and much to his dismay, the mention of their shared school piques the blonde's interest; putting a halt to his incessant chewing when his attention drags upwards from the table

Izuku nods, smile unnecessarily bright, and Katsuki can't help but cram more rice into his mouth. ' _Yeah, un-fucking-fortunately.'_

"Ah, we had no clue-"  
"Wait! So that _was_ you that fought Endeavor's kid during the sports festival! Damn it, I shoulda known! Green hair ain't exactly common..." Mitsuki's voice trails off, cutting off completely when she pauses to take a swig of water.

"Oh, yes, I did fight Todoroki-kun. He was really amazing, and he beat me pretty good," Hand coming up to rub the back of his head, a sheepish grin flourishes on Izuku's face and it's making Katsuki sick. What the fuck was he so happy about? He'd lost. That wasn't something to smile about- "but that just means I have to try harder and get even stronger, that way I can win next time! It'll be difficult, since he's so skilled, but Kacchan did it so I know it's possible!"

Whipping his head to the left at a breakneck speed, crimson eyes widen as Deku's words ring loudly in the air; massacring his pride with a massive blow. ' _If I can do it…'_ Brows furrowing, he clenches his jaw- biting the inside of his cheek till the coppery taste of blood begins to mingle with spit. ' _Then scum like you can, too?'_

Tremoring pupils finally lock the other's form, and suddenly the knife Izuku had impaled through his arrogance twists with the sickening rip of flesh. He's smiling- he's fucking smiling while he wrenches Katsuki's ego, and it only adds salt to the gushing wound.

What smug fucking bastard. ' _I'll kill you.'_

"Pssh. Yeah, don't feed his self-esteem any more than you already have, honey; Katsuki thinks he's hot shit, even though he's a little bitch all the time. Ain't that right, punk?"

"WHO THE FU-"

"Hey." A stern tone cuts through the uproar like a blade, swift and clean in its descend. Masaru's face is uncharacteristically solemn, and it forces him, as well as his mother, to sag in their chairs; demeanors similar to that of scolded toddlers.

Today sucked royal balls.

"Well," Mitsuki gives a small cough, clearing her throat before shifting her attention from Katsuki's dejected form to smile brightly at Izuku instead. "Your quirk sure is something, kid." Masaru nods, shoulders dropping from their previously stiffened state, and he feels Deku relax at his side as the undercurrent of anger from mere moments ago desiccates.

Once again, Katsuki delves back into eating- a lowly, failed attempt at trying to block out the waves of praise his parents begin to bestow upon a flushing Izuku. Deku's quirk...the one he fucking lied about? He stabs his food. Yeah, it sure is something.

"It was definitely an unexpected twist. You know, the sheer power of it is reminiscent of All Might."  
Stab.  
"If you hone it, you'll certainly be a great hero."  
 _Stab.  
_ "Not just 'cause of your quirk, either," His mother intercepts, a beaming smile balanced on her youthful features, "you're such a nice young man too, Izuku! You could teach our kid a thing or two about what it really means to be hero."  
 _ **Stab.  
**_ "Oh, no, Kacchan is really amazing-"

The chair bursts from its place under the table, accompanied by the violent screech of metal clashing against the wooden floor beneath. Katsuki throws himself up with an explosive speed, grabbing his plate in the process before he all but tosses it into the sink. Every movement is teeming with untapped ire, and it blisters under his skin like a molten, venomous tar. God, he's so angry- It's eating him up from the inside out; broiling in his core as it erupts through every pore, and it's all Deku's fucking fault.

The faucet begins to gush, the frigid stream cooling the burning expanse of his palms, and Katsuki can't help but grit his teeth. He's never scrubbed a plate so hard in his life, and if it weren't for his mother calling from the table he's certain it would have shattered in his grip.

"Oi, if you're done, then come get our plates too."

He grumbles a quick "lazy bitches," but aside from that the blonde can't be bothered to put up a fight. He knows himself- maybe not every deep, heavily repressed issue- but well enough that he's aware any more confrontation will result in disaster. One wrong move; that's all it'll take.

Making his way around the table, piling bowls and plateware atop one another in a fragile game of tetris, Katsuki finally halts at Deku's side. He doesn't hesitate, reaching for it with no pause- yet the moment his fingers brush against the porcelain edge of the plate, Izuku makes a grab for it.

"The fuck? Give it here, nerd." It's uttered with feigned apathy, though it does nothing to hide the bitterness simmering in his gaze.

"Are-" It seems as if Izuku had caught himself wavering, a determined look illuminating the green of his eyes as the other steels himself- meeting Katsuki's glowering stare with a polite smile. "Okay. Thank you, Kacchan." His glare falters when Deku complies, gentle hands placing the last plate atop the teetering pile, and the blonde is quick to saunter his way back to the sink with a huff. At least he wasn't arguing with him-

A muffled snicker reverberates from where Mitsuki elbows a smiling Masaru, the pair sharing an amused glance before Katsuki looks back to see her mouth something akin to his name. ' _Huh?'_ Confusion drenched his features, the teen cocking his head to the side while shooting the couple a narrowed gaze. What was so funny? It sure as hell couldn't have been his name, she's the one who gave it to him- hell, their names were similar, so if his was something to laugh at then hers was arguably worse...unless…

Humiliation explodes through his veins, and Katsuki's cheeks turn a bright red; embarrassment staining his face with a harsh blush. Dumping all the dishes into the sink, he vigorously lathers them in soap- teeth tearing into the soft flesh of a, now, bleeding lip.

Shame begins to creep down his neck, and he flushes up to his ears. Shit.

'Kacchan' was childish, yeah, but who gives a fuck? He sure as hell didn't. They weren't on great terms, but he and Deku had been using those nicknames for over a decade now- at this point it was second nature. Despite not being close, neither last nor first names felt right; both options were too formal- too disconnected. They were childhood friends, and they'd been together for as long as he can remember. Izuku was his Deku, in turn Katsuki was his Kacchan- and that was fine.

Right?

 _Right.  
_  
"So, what's up with the quirk, Izuku? I remember him," Mitsuki tosses a glance in her son's direction, "tellin' me you didn't have one a long ass time ago."

"He lied to me." Katsuki quips back from within the kitchen, not missing a beat as he continues to harshly scrub curry off a plate. There's a strained sound that erupts from the table, and he doesn't need to turn to tell Izuku is paleing behind him; the awkward silence that follows gives it away.

"That's not- I mean-" The other boy's nervous stammering is cut short by Mitsuki scoffing loudly.

"Oh, whatever. He probably just didn't know he had one till now. Stop bein' so frickin dramatic."

Izuku breathes a soft sigh of relief, the utterance barely audible beneath his mother's thunderous bitching, but it's probably the most annoying sound ever known to man. Katsuki simply glowers down at the sudsy plate held tightly between calloused fingers, pouring all his concentration into washing the dishes- if he's distracted, then the gnawing urge to kick Deku's ass right out the front door won't be as unbearable.

' _Just wash the fucking plate. Shitnerd's gonna leave any second now…'_

There's a burst of movement, a freckled face coming into view when Izuku comes to stand mere inches to his left- demeanor sparking with a sickening vibrancy of hope. Katsuki doesn't even have to ask- the moment their eyes meet, jade irises clashing abrasively with sanguine ones, he already knows what the other wants.

"I got it, go home." It's a demand, haughty and blunt as it tumbles from his lips; there's a slight edge to it- almost as if he were daring Deku to defy him.

And, as per usual, that stupid fuck did just that. Something akin to determination flashes in those green eyes, and with little to no hesitation the other reaches for a bowl. "I just wanna help you." It's stated plainly- like a fact of life, and it makes his skin crawl. When the hell had he gotten so annoyingly argumentative?

Out of instinct, Katsuki grips him by the wrist, forcefully keeping it at bay from the choppy surface of the soapy water. It wasn't meant to hurt, but the mingling essence of surprise and discomfort breaking out across Deku's face tells him it's too tight; then again, he doesn't care. He digs the blunt ends of his nails in. He doesn't care. Izuku winces. ' _I don't care.'_

He let's go, all but throwing the other's arm out of the sink, and it knocks Deku back the slightest bit. When the skin on skin contact ends, so does the prickling sensation in his gut.

"You always do, huh? I can wash dishes by myself. Scram."

For a moment, it's quiet; everything falls away. The sloshing water and the idle chatter of his parents seemingly vanish, leaving Katsuki with nothing to focus on except Izuku's ugly face. They stare at each other, gazes locked and judging by the convoluted way emotions were swirling wildly around in those viridescent eyes, that shitnerd was probably doing his stupid mental rambling.

Yet, the deafening silence shatters the instant Mitsuki places a gentle hand on the other's shoulder, startling both of them out of their thoughts. Izuku looks strangely…hurt. It's slight, but the smile plastered across his lips doesn't reach his eyes, and they're uncharacteristically dull; lacking the usual exuberance of hope and kindness. At the sight, the churning fire in Katsuki's gut returns, though the blonde quickly forces the prickling sensation to subside. He has nothing to feel guilty for. Red eyes dart to the fading imprint of a hand around Deku's wrist. Nothing at all.

"Katsuki, we're making dessert," She pulls affectionately at his cheek, simultaneously ruffling Izuku's hair, "so when you finish the dishes why don't you boys go upstairs for a while?"

He opens his mouth to argue- to yell about how Deku was asked to stay for dinner, not a fucking four-course meal- but when crimson eyes once more land upon the reddening mark snaked about Izuku's wrist, his jaw snaps shut.

' _It's not my fault.'_

Katsuki simply shrugs, throwing a quick "Whatever," over his shoulder as he turned back towards the sink. He supposed a few more minutes with shitty mcshitterson couldn't hurt... _that_ much.

He was wrong


	5. Fists

Setting the last plate down with a gruff sigh, Katsuki dries his hands via an incandescent glow- droplets of murky, soap-riddled water sizzling in unison before evaporating into wisps of steam. It was a habit; a small, absentminded usage of his quirk that he'd been doing since childhood, and it was so second nature at this point that he'd barely registered it all. Yet, as the palms of his hands cool and he dreadfully turns to face Izuku, he's startled to find the other beaming a huge, sugary smile towards him.

Correction: A creepy, weird ass fucking smile that made his skin crawl.

The shorter boy's arms were pulled to his chest excitedly, gaze darting repeatedly from Katsuki's face to his hands; and he swears Deku's smile is legit lighting up the room, green eyes teeming with something akin to amazement as they burn brightly against his own. A rosy hue dusts over Izuku's sun-kissed cheeks, and the lingering admiration in that expression makes the blonde's stomach drop with a harsh jolt.

Deku hadn't looked at _him_ like _that_ in ages.

He used to- in fact, during their childhood it was a staple of their relationship. Katsuki did something, Izuku was in awe. It was a cycle that, as a child, had been welcomed- yet, as their friendship had soured into the festering shitpile it was in middle school, those wide-eyed looks filled with wonderment instead turned to shaky, fearful glances. Those, too, had been welcomed- and even though they weren't as warm or loving, they had still appeased his fourteen year-old self's massive ego.

Nowadays, however, Izuku didn't regard him with either expression. Izuku wasn't amazed by him, nor was he scared, and it was annoying as shit. Ever since that day at the stream, the other's face held nothing but patronizing pity for him, and now adoration filled looks were reserved for everyone else in their class.

He grits his teeth. _'That's fine.'_ The thought is laced with bitterness, and the sheer contempt radiating off those words causes his skin to prickle; jaw clenching in an attempt to hold back a sneer. It didn't fucking matter. He was gonna crush all of them anyways, shitnerd included.

Katsuki feels the distinct sting of ire trickling into his veins, and when their eyes meet a brontide of anger practically floods throughout his very being. God, he's really had enough of Deku for one damn day.

"The fuck's up with you?" Annoyance flares in his core, expression hardening as he shoves his dry hands into the recesses of his pockets- fingers gripping into a tight fist. The overwhelming giddiness in the other's demeanor was making him feel weird, and the long-forgotten sensation of being the center of Izuku's attention sent jolts of something warm and electric up his spine. It almost makes him shiver, forcing the hair on his neck to stand on end, and it's pissing him off.

That stupid fucking expression was eliciting unwanted, dormant feelings- feelings he didn't know how to decypher, though he didn't want to understand them anyways. _Fuck,_ he just wants to wipe that look off Deku's face- he'd throw him, and those dumbass emotions, in the trash if he could.

None of it mattered. Feelings weren't going to get him to the top- understanding his own weird-ass emotions wasn't going to make him the number one hero.

"I just haven't seen you do that in so long, Kacchan! I didn't know you still did it like that- it's so cool!" Izuku blurts, arms flailing in elation as the exclamation leaves his lips with an excited, bubbling laughter. It's mirthful and light, filled with ecstaticism, and Katsuki can't help but marvel as the sound replays continuously in his mind like a melody.

Honestly, the fact that his ears weren't bleeding shocked him. Everything Izuku did was just so...unbearable. So familiar, yet too foreign all in one big package of garbage that distinctly reeked of Midoriya Izuku; Deku's existence was a contradiction- an enigma...one that had been plaguing him for way too goddamn long.

That laugh sparked a flame within Katsuki, while simultaneously putting out another, and it was so confusing, and shitty, and annoying.

"I just dried my fucking hands- It's nothing, don't be a dork."

Pushing his way past a fumbling Izuku, Katsuki saunters out into the hallway, not bothering to see if the other was following as he placed his foot upon the first step of the staircase. Deku was useless, not clueless- and he didn't really give a fuck if he came or not anyways. In fact, the idea of him not coming was much more appealing-

There's a creak behind him. _'Of fucking course he's coming.'_

For a few moments, there's a somewhat natural silence, yet as Katsuki continues his stomping ascension up the stairs there's a sudden squeal from Izuku when he misses a step, consequently reaching out to ball his hands into the fabric of the blonde's shirt.

The commotion leaves Katsuki with barely any time to react, breath snagging as he tips backwards; eyes going wide when his body begins to succumb to the distinct pull of gravity.

 _'Holy fuCKING SHIT!'_

Out of instinct, he yanks his hands from the depths of his pockets, lurching for the railing with a loud yell- fighting off the gnawing urge to blast off the deadweight pulling him down. His fingers twitch as they make contact with the cool metal, and he swears that the second he finds his balance he's going to turn around and tear Deku a new asshole- No, two new assholes.

The explosive thrum of motion that passes between them when Katsuki snags the railing results in a harsh jerk, and suddenly Izuku's grip on the tank top gives way. There's a fraction of a second where Katsuki's relieved, the tension pulsing through his biceps easing away at the abrupt lack of weight- and he's ready to fullfill that asshole-ripping promise, when it clicks.

That lack of weight _is_ Deku.

Deku's falling.

His heart practically stops; breath hitching in his throat, and everything freezes.

 _'Deku's falling.'_

"FUCK! Deku, you-" his free hand reaches back to tangle into Izuku's uniform, twisting the grey blazer as he heaves the other forwards, "Idiot!"

It takes a second, but as Deku comes to stand upright by the force of Katsuki's pull, the shorter boy's face breaks out into a heated, flushing mess. His hands shoot up to grip at the straps of his backpack for comfort, and something flashes in those green eyes- gratitude- before the seething scowl on the blonde's face causes the other to recoil; form curling in on itself.

"Kacchan, I'm so sorr-"

"Shut up," There's a pause, a ragged breath forcing it's way from Katsuki's parted lips. Red eyes shift to lock with Izuku's own; they're wide and pathetic, glossy from the tears beginning to form. So fucking weak. "Stop crying about everything, you shitty nerd. And learn to fucking walk- next time I'm gonna let you bust your ass!"

Wrenching his fingers out of the fabric of Izuku's blazer, the blonde doesn't bother to watch the other wipe frantically at his eyes. It'll just piss him off more. Deku's blubbering had always had a way of doing that- getting under his skin.

The pathetic sniffling rings in his ear, forcing a disgusted snarl from his throat. And with that, Katsuki twists forward, grip loosening on the metal bar of the stairwell; grumbling obscenities as he went.

Despite his own mutterings, he still catches the soft, barely audible "Thank you for saving me," that Izuku whispers behind him as he continues his tirade up the stairs. Something in his chest swells. It might have been a growing annoyance at how Deku was a dumbass who couldn't even walk up a flight of stairs without fucking up, or maybe it was heartburn from eating too fast; either way, it was not because that dipshit had thanked him. Not even a little.

Once they reach the upper floor, Katsuki is quick to shove his hands back into his pockets, deeming it finally safe enough to do so- after all, Deku won't trip on a flat surface…probably.

 _'Wouldn't be surprised if he did- he's clumsy as shit.'_

There's a slight hint of amusement pulling at the corner of his lips. Looking back on it, the half-screech Izuku had blurted right before falling was pretty fucking funny- and Katsuki simply had to marvel at how Deku had changed in so many ways, while still being fundamentally the same as when they were younger. That weak, little pebble on the side of the road had managed to become a boulder obscuring his path- yet Izuku had retained the gentle, kind, and dorky traits he'd possessed since birth; clumsiness included.

"Ah, hey-"

Izuku taps his shoulder softly, almost too light to notice.

"Do you still have your old pro-hero trading cards? You always had all the good ones, Kacchan! I remember we used to play with those in your room for hours-"

"The fuck? No, dumbass Deku! What am I, three?" Katsuki snaps, throwing a pointed look over his shoulder. When his gaze lands on Izuku, he expects to see the boy's typical nervous habits- to shrink, fumble, and apologize. Yet, when sanguine eyes fully come to rest on him, Izuku's fingers don't come together to twiddle, nor does embarrassment bloom on his face. Instead, Katsuki is greeted with a sight that almost makes him remorseful.

A wistful smile is plastered on the other's lips, reserved and thin, and Deku's eyes- those green, usually bright as fuck eyes- are... _dull._ Clouded over and distant; was it sadness?

No.

It was a look of judgement. An expression that screamed 'God, you're typical,' and Katsuki swears his vision goes red- if only for a fraction of a second.

Ultimately, he decides, that it was a stupid fucking question and he most definitely does not feel bad over his response. Deku was a mocking little shit, constantly trying to bring up their stupid, childish antics as if it would take them back to those sweltering summer days- as if it would fix whatever seems to be broken between them, and news flash: it wouldn't. Not a bit. So why couldn't he ever just shut the fuck up about it?

Rather than pause when they reach the bedroom door, Katsuki plants a hard kick to it- the wood creaking beneath the harsh contact as it swings wide open. He kinda wonders why the old thing hasn't fallen off its hinges yet, but that thought is brought to a screeching halt the moment the door bangs into the wall; revealing the contents of his room. Katsuki wishes he could take that kick back- or that he could grab Deku and throw him down the stairs- anything to keep the other from seeing the fucking walls.

Izuku, to his horror, does see them though, and doesn't stall at the entrance like Katsuki does- instead rushing past the blonde in awe.

"Wow, Kacchan! You still have all these All Might Posters? These are so old-" There's a gasp, "YOU HAVE THE LIMITED EDITION PLATINUM-HOLOGRAPH ONE?! How'd you get it? I waited in line forever last year and didn't even manage to snag one!"

"Augh, shitty Deku-" He throws the door closed before walking over to yank Izuku away from his collectables, "don't go barging into people's fucking rooms like that!"

"Sorry, sorry! I just really wanted this print!" The earlier fog-like haze in Izuku's eyes had melted away, recanted by a spark of enthusiasm and elation; yet he barely gets any time to register it, as the other's gaze practically snaps back to the poster-adorned wall. "Seriously, Kacchan, how'd you get it?" There's a slight whine in his voice, and Katsuki can't help but snort. Fucking nerd.

He crosses his arms, cocking his head back to hold his chin slightly higher; a prideful smirk gracing his features.

"Whaddya mean, how'd I get it? I'm All Might's biggest fan, there was no way I was leaving without this poster," The blonde's tongue clicks, and Katsuki admires the image like an artist reviewing their proudest work. "I woulda beat someone's ass for one of these, Deku. You probably didn't get one 'cause you let people cut you in line since you're a pussy."

Izuku simply rolls his eyes, a good-natured grin breaking out across his features at the tease. A part of him lingers on that expression, but sudden memories of the disgusting-smile-fiasco at dinner causes him to practically rip his eyes away from Deku's face. He was absolutely not going to be reliving that godawful experience. Not just no , but hell no.

"One day we should go together, Kacchan...you can do all the fighting and I'll grab the posters!" The way Izuku says it, with a joking smile yet authentic eyes causes something to churn in Katsuki's gut.

Deku had casually, absentmindedly, suggested they do something- together; like friends. The kid he'd beat and ridiculed and bullied for years, saidthat as if it had been the most natural thing in the world, and something in his ribcage pangs. 'Idiot.' It's not an angry, insulting thought- rather it's melancholy, and he can't stand it. Why did Deku do this to him? Why did Deku make him feel these gross, mushy, awful things that were fucking shitty and unpleasant- with words. Just fucking words.

"Whatever. You'd only slow me down; I'm a perfectionist, I can't take chances when it comes these posters 'cause I'm gonna have every single one, got it?" It's a declaration, and with that the blonde strides over to his bed; flopping down with a harsh fall onto the black comforter. He lays this way for a few moments, splayed out and stretching, before shoving himself up and coming to lean against the backboard, throwing Izuku a bored look in the process.

"Oi, you shoved that homework in your backpack earlier. Hand it over, Deku."

"Ah, what's the magic wo-"

"Don't finish that sentence. I'm not saying 'please' for my _own_ damn papers."

There's a slight tsk from Izuku, but he smiles cheerily nonetheless as he slings the bag off his shoulders. Coming to crouch next to it, he begins shuffling through the contents and Katsuki almost groans at how painstakingly long it's taking.

"How'd you even know I grabbed it, Kacchan? I didn't think you were paying attention!" The other suddenly pipes up, tongue coming to poke out from the side of his mouth as he concentrates on flipping through the mass of papers in his hands.

"I wasn't. I have fucking eyes, dumbass." Katsuki quips back, and with a sudden "Aha!" Izuku closes the distance between them, holding out a small stack of papers.

He intends to snatch them from the other, but his body doesn't cooperate- he's distracted, red eyes tracing every nick and scar adorning that outstretched hand. Most of them were from Deku being a dumbass noob, using his quirk like a fucking moron- suddenly his gaze lands on a particularly deep one. It stretches across the expanse of Izuku's fingers, deep and jagged; roughening the contour of those once soft, yet no less kind, hands. 'That one,' He sneers, 'is from when he fought that half-n-half bastard by breaking his goddamn bones.'

In the frey of scars, there's a few he recognizes from their shared childhood. They're lighter than the others, having faded with time, and they're distinctly different in shape. Some are scrapes from playing in the gravel, others are burn marks. Nothing major; small spots where sparks and embers from Katsuki's explosions had made contact with Izuku's skin.

There's a quick cough as the other clears his throat, the sound jarring Katsuki from his thoughts. Scowling, he grabs the papers with a huff- when a daunting realization causes him to glare Izuku right in the eye. The blonde is about to open his mouth, when the other places a pencil in his hand, effectively silencing him before he'd even begun. 'How the fuck…'

"That's not what I was gonna ask for, stupid Deku." It's grumbled without much bite, and Izuku simply laughs in response.

"Well, I knew it wasn't going to be a 'thank you,' so I figured you were mad that I didn't give you something to write with." He retorts, tone light-hearted and teasing. Something about the way his face lights up when he smiles makes Katsuki want to vomit.

"Whatever, let me do my fucking work."

Izuku laughs, Katsuki flips him the bird, and a comfortable silence blankets the room.

The problems are, to put it nicely, stupid. Dumb. A waste of his precious time, and he honest to God can't believe this shit is being distributed at the top hero academy in the nation.

'Who proposed diversity in costumes?' The paper reads, blunt, bland, and enraging. Pure, indignant irritation spikes in his core. Is this supposed to be hard? Is this what he's going to U.A. for? To answer shitty, lame-ass questions that anyone with a brain could get?

'Clown Shock.' It's scribbled angrily, without so much as a second thought, narrowed eyes continuing to pour over the rest of the shittastic questions littering the page. 'How the fuck is this gonna help me be number one-'

The floor creaks under a shifting weight, and when Katsuki's attention tears away from his work up to Izuku's awkward, shuffling figure he's suddenly reminded of the other's presence. Shit…

He'd almost completely forgotten Deku was there.

"Fuckin' sit down or something, nerd. My mom's gonna keep you hostage for a while." Katsuki utters, the annoyance he'd previously felt over his homework seeping into his words. Still, they lack the general, robust volume the blonde's exclamations usually carry, and he makes a mental note to correct that. Deku getting any funny ideas about them being on okay terms was absolutely not gonna fucking fly.

Izuku's face brightens; it's a mixture of awe and disbelief, layered on top of blindingly luminescent cheerfulness- yet his demeanor is simultaneously engulfed in a timid, gentle light. Quietly, the boy approaches the bed, almost as if he were being cautious, and Katsuki can't help but quirk a brow in confusion. What the fuck did Deku think the bed was gonna do to him? Come alive and eat him?

With a soft creak of the mattress, Izuku sits down at the edge, avoiding eye contact; gaze clearly fixed on the wall across the room. There's a slight crinkling sound, but neither one seems to pay it any mind. In fact, the moment the other is seated, Katsuki is quick to delve back into his work.

'This sucks.'

Doing bullshit assignments was bad enough, but having to do them while Deku sat mere inches from him was even worse. At least at school their desks didn't touch- but right here, right now, every damn twitch and movement the other made distracted him. If Deku wasn't a fucking pussy and stopped fidgeting so goddamn much, then he'd actually be able to focus on this shitty homework.

"Oi, stop moving! What are you? A tweaker?" He all but snarls, startling Izuku as a clear chill runs up the other's spine. He mumbles a quick apology, and Katsuki resists the urge to simply kick Deku in the head. He totally could...they're close enough-

Fucking.  
Focus.

'A.) What was the first-ever recorded quirk? B.) Where was said quirk discovered?'

He smirks; a seething, spiteful grimace. This has got to be a joke- everyone knows this. Hell, even dunce-face and raccoon eyes could (maybe) answer these shittastically stupid questions.

Katsuki's about to begin writing about the child born exhibiting a bright light in Qingqing, China, when Izuku once more shifts on the bed, resulting in that same crumpling sound as before.

"Goddamn it, Deku, what did I just say!" When Katsuki looks up from his work with the intent of glaring harshly at Mr. Shitnerd, he's perplexed to see Izuku staring at a folded, tattered piece of paper. "What's that?" The inquiry is meant to sound unimpressed, though it falters as he sits up slightly in order to get a better view; curiosity seeping through into his movements.

It's small, glossy...maybe a picture?

Deku appears lost in thought, eyes unmoving from the...whatever he's holding- too zoned out to even blink at Katsuki's inquiry. And it's pissing him the fuck off.

"Oi, Earth to shitty Deku," The blonde gives the other a moderate kick in the ribs, startling him from his daze, "The fuck is that thing? Where'd you get it?"

"It was jammed between your mattress and the bed frame," Izuku mutters, unfolding it with haste. When he fully undoes the slip of paper, there's a clear pop of color, yet Katsuki still can't tell what it is.

"Wow," It's breathed out in the softest whisper, as if Izuku was afraid that if he said it any louder the paper would crumble, "this is so old, Kacchan. I can't believe you kept this." He runs his fingers along it lovingly, eyes filled with emotion and Katsuki swears Deku is about to cry. And over what?

The blonde shoves his work aside, pushing himself to his knees and crawling over to where the other is- when his eyes finally land on the photograph held delicately between Izuku's fingers, what he sees forces bile and anger to rise in his throat. There, staring him languidly in the face, sits a decade old image of them, as well as some of his other childhood friends, at the lake. The two of them are smiling brightly at the camera, and it's a disgusting mess of childhood nostalgia. Their cheeks are chubby and pink, grins housing gaps where a few of their baby-teeth had fallen out, and they're each holding up the respective fish they'd caught. Deku's was small, a amur goby, whereas Katsuki had caught a much larger catfish, and their free arms are intertwined tightly together- hands clasped.

Katsuki's mind reels with the memories of the day the image was taken, and he violently snatches the photograph from Izuku's hand, crumpling it in his fist with a loud pop; a burst of heat pooling within his palm as a small explosion chars the picture to ashes.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! DON'T SNOOP AROUND MY STUFF YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Katsuki practically roars, eyes erupting with a flaming ire. A rush of vitriolic anger barrels through every fiber of his being; singeing the last tendrils of self-control, and he's never felt so much shame, and hatred, and anger all in one fucking blow. The humiliation explodes his vision; dying it red, and his body shakes with unbridled wrath.

Izuku stammers something that sounds akin to an apology, but the noise of it is absolutely disseminated under the volatile gushing of rage that hammers in his skull. It's so potent he can't help but relieve it by violently shoving the other off the bed.

If Deku yelped, he hadn't heard it, but he doesn't miss the harsh thud when the other hits the floor.

"I-I'M SORRY, KACCHAN! I WASN'T TRYING TO PRY, IT WAS JUST AN ACCIDENT-"

"SHUT UP, AND STAY ON THE FLOOR, SHITTY DEKU- " ...Fuck.

There's an erratic motion as the boy scrambles to his knees, hands up in earnest defense; eyes wide, expression bewildered and fearful. That's not what catches his attention, though, no- it's the stream of red pouring from the other's nose. Blood continues to gush, staining Izuku's lips and chin; splattering onto his clothes, and Katsuki feels sprouts of guilt flourishing in his chest.

"You're bleeding?! DID YOU FALL ON YOUR FACE?! AUGH, USELESS!"

A part of him burns with regret- chest smoldering under the growing guilt, yet his pride rears its ugly head in retaliation. Swarms of thoughts telling him it's not his fault flood his mind, and he wants to give into it; he should. Deku was the one who dug through his shit. Deku was the one who unfolded the picture. Deku was the one who got himself a bloody nose.

He wants to believe that.

Katsuki practically lunges off the bed, rushing towards a pile of dirty clothes- digging haphazardly before snatching a random black shirt. Coming to crouch next to the other, the blonde places the cloth over Izuku's nose, firmly grasping it in order to stop the bleeding. He watches Deku flinch from his touch- sees the crimson dribbling onto his hand, and he can't help but avert his gaze.

'It's your own fucking fault.'

He really wants to believe that...but there's a part of him that just doesn't- just won't.

"Hold this, dumbass. Don't you have any reflexes? How are you planning to surpass All Might if you bust your ass just falling off a bed?" There's no concern in his voice, and if there was any he sure as hell crushed it the second his tone so much as dared to waver. Izuku's gaze comes up to meet his own, tanned hands gripping the shirt with shaky fingers, and the unmasked hurt in those green eyes makes Katsuki fucking sick.

"I didn't fall," Izuku mutters, gaze darkening, "you pushed me, Kacchan."

A twinge of annoyance buds in his core, and Katsuki's eyes narrow; glaring down at the shorter boy with blatant arrogance. "Shut the hell up. You should still have good reflexes."

At that, the betrayal in Deku's previous expression morphs into a challenging stare, and he matches the blonde's harsh glare. That expression, he thinks, really doesn't suit him.

"That doesn't mean you should push me!"

"Hah?! Want me to do it again?!"

"No," Izuku screams, tossing the bloodied shirt aside, "I want you to stop hurting me! You tried to hit me in Aizawa's class, too!"

"That wasn't my fucking fault, shitnerd-"

"WHEN IS IT EVER?!"

Izuku's screech echoes in the room as if it were a frozen tundra, barren and cold, and in its absence the atmosphere floods with a deafening silence. It only amplifies the oppressively thick tension between them, and when Katsuki's face breaks from a deep scowl into a vile sneer, Izuku's fist slams into his cheek. Simultaneously, the blonde's knuckles make contact with Deku's face, and before either one can so much as breath they're lunging for one another.

It's not so much a fight as it is a mess of limbs- random kicks and punches being thrown around as they roll across the floor. For a few minutes, the tussle is composed of nothing more than a power struggle- both of them attempting to gain the upperhand by immobilizing the other. There's a second where Izuku almost manages to straddle him, yet with a violent thrash of his body, accompanied by a harsh right-hook, Katsuki quite literally throws Deku off. The other rolls, cupping his jaw as his face scrunches up in pain; without realizing it, he stops with back pressed flush to the floor, and within the mere fraction of a second Katsuki unrelentingly attacks. When the blonde manages to fight his way on top, a knee comes up to slam into Izuku's stomach, while a harsh slap reddens Katsuki's cheek. The blow to his abdomen causes the other to visibly gag, and the blonde's face cracks into a ruthless grin. Every godawful thing Deku's put him through today manifests in the form of bites littering the shorter boy's arm, as well as bruising marks staining his bloody cheeks, and Katsuki has a feeling Izuku's also being overcome with his emotions.

There's a sudden sting as blunt ends come to scrape across his shoulder, trailing down his back with immense force, and pain blooms along the path Deku's nails left on his skin. Something else sparks, too, but it's unidentifiable and smothered instantly when Deku's tanned hands dig into a mess of blonde spikes- pulling Katsuki's face away from where he'd been harshly digging his teeth into the other's forearm. He lets out a ragged grunt of pain, and watches Izuku wince- yet when their eyes lock once more the burning sensation in his scalp where that useless fucking nobody is yanking his hair fades; adrenaline numbing it in favor of uppercutting his fist into Izuku's chin.

Snaking his hand to grip into the other's mop of green locks, Katsuki mirrors Deku's movement- yet rather than simply lift and restrain Izuku's head, the way the other was doing, he slams his head back down against the floor. **Hard.**

"Gah- Kacchan-" A hand comes up to scratch at his face, and a hiss escapes his lips as Deku's nails dig harshly into his cheek, but Katsuki simply slams him again. The shock of it causes Izuku's grip on his hair to loosen, and the blonde is quick to take advantage of it- free hand coming up to harshly grip Deku's arm, before subsequently forcing it down to the boy's side.

"Fuck you, you stupid sack of shit-"

Suddenly a muffled voice calls from the stairs, "Boys, dessert's ready!" and the fire in both of their chests puffs- if only for a moment. Yet that's all they need, and suddenly Izuku manages to strike one of his knees in between Katsuki's legs- resulting in a loud yelp of pain and causing the blonde to tumble off. The moment the other's weight no longer rests on him, Izuku scrambles away from Katsuki's curled up form- avoiding the enraged, blood-thirsty glare being shot his way.

For all of two seconds, it's quiet, and they both pant heavily- Katsuki wincing as he finally gets up into a sitting position, hand unabashedly cupping his crotch in agony. They scowl at one another from across the room- and right when the blonde opens his mouth to yell about how Izuku's dick-kick had been a fucking low-blow, there's another shout from down stairs.

"Are you boys deaf? Come down here, the ice cream is gonna melt!" Mitsuki's voice calls once more, this one even more booming than last, and without pause Katsuki rises to his feet. Storming past a sitting Izuku, he grips the doorknob with enough force to turn his knuckles white- yanking it open with a harsh pull of his arm. Wordlessly, he slams it shut behind him; ignoring both the door rattling, and the way Izuku's eyes well with hot, blistering tears.

Sauntering down the stairs, he can already hear the bustle of his parents getting the plates ready- and he can tell they're happy from the way they're chatting. He can also tell they're not going to be for much longer, because as he clears the last step with an uncharacteristically calm pace, and Mitsuki turns to greet him, his mother drops a plate.

Katsuki almost winces as it shatters. Almost. But he can't be bothered to right now. He feels hollow. Drained. Numb. Just straight up fucking nothing. His mother's face contorts, eyes widening as she takes in the scratches and bruises on his face.

"What the hell? Masaru, come out here-"

The stairs creak behind him, and Izuku comes rushing down them- complexion littered with far more bumps and scrapes, as well as blood.

There's a loud gasp- one that seems to make Deku's movements even more hastey.

Mitsuki reaches out to touch the boy's shoulder, yet he shrugs her off and the moment he slips his feet haphazardly into his shoes, he's already opening the front door.

"Thanks for h-" a hiccup forces it's way from Izuku's trembling lips, causing more tears to fall; mingling with the crimson staining his cheeks, "having me for dinner." And with that, Deku's form sprints out the front door; even going so far as to jump over the steps leading up to the entryway.

The door slams shut underneath Mitsuki's trembling hands, and the split second his mother turns back to him, she let's out a blood-curdling shriek. He can't even begin to make out all the bullshit she's spewing, and he really doesn't fucking care. His eyes are glued to where Deku once stood; expression deadpan and apathetic. Their fight had left him unsatisfied, and he honest to God wants to do it again. But, properly- with their quirks. Autonomously his body moves towards the door- itching to follow Izuku, but he's stopped by both the weight of his father's hand on his left shoulder, as well as his mother's palms against his chest.

"Where the ever-loving fuck do you think you're going?" Mitsuki hisses, voice dripping in barely contained rage.

 _'Great.'_

"Move." It's a demand, and it falls from his lips without even so much as a thought. His mind is preoccupied with a yearning to fucking obliterate that pebble- no- that boulder in his path, and nothing else matters. No one else is worth his anger but Deku.

There's a loud, slap- the skin on skin contact reverberating through the hallway, and his cheek suddenly ripples with a searing pain where his mother's hand strikes him.

 _'Even better.'_


	6. Chapter 6

_"It wasn't my fault, shitnerd-"_

 _"When is it ever!"_

Izuku's anguished cry rumbles through the silence- thudding rhythmically against his temples like the brontide of a storm, and it's the worst headache he's ever had in his entire goddamn life. Blinking hurts, thinking hurts, everything just hurts, and he's tired of it.

He aims to spit in the face of exhaustion by glaring harshly at the ceiling and braving the blinding pain that follows when the light hits his eyes, yet instead he closes them. Eyelids heavy and at rest, he relishes in that momentary, though futile, attempt to quell the pain.

His fingers grip restlessly at the fabric of the couch beneath him, digits twitching with the ghost-sensation of sparks against his palms. Each slight jerk of his hand forces him to trace over the stitched patterns, calluses catching softly against the cotton threads, and the friction offers him a point of a focus; the slightest bit of calm shining through the haze of a storm.

But it's short lived.

Another aching throb ricochets behind his eyelids, bursting pain along a path trailing the side of his head before it ultimately splinters through his skull. There's a few moments between each strike where the pulsating mellows, yet still Katsuki finds no peace as images of a green, sickening boy haunt him every time he so much as dares to close his eyes- each is blink heavy and agonizing, just like Deku.

 _'Deku.'_ Even simply thinking that name forces his stomach to twist into an airtight knot; so strictly coiled that it feels as if it had been tied by someone of herculean descent.

Sanguine eyes open once more, and again pain hammers at his temples; Christ, he's so fucking tired.

 _"When is it ever!"_

It's clockwork. Izuku's accusation sounds, and in turn there's a skull-splitting pound, always on cue- forming the beat of a drum; each bang isolated aside from the distant ticking of a clock.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It only makes it worse. Only makes the throb behind his eyes more acidic. _Dammit._

The guilt those words produce crackle through his veins like lightning, leaving Katsuki's chest feeling as if he's been struck with a red-hot piece of iron; a searing pain exploding through his ribcage like boiling tar. He's utterly lost, consumed in thought, but it's the kind that resembles white noise, or the static of a television left on a void channel. It's meaningless, gargling garbage; a worthless waste of mental capacity, but he just can't fucking muster anything else- not a feeling, not a word. No, nothing of substance, just those filthy, painful words in a voice he can't stand: _"When is it ever!"_

 _'That bastard. I'll kill him- obliterate him like the spec he is.'_

"Son?"

For the first time in god knows how long, he looks up from the floor- red eyes shifting towards his father's seated figure. _'Great._ ' He throws a glance upward and almost winces at the sudden increase in lighting, but chokes it down in favor of peering expressionlessly at the geezer. His head still hangs low, and he really can't find the strength to lift it, though he cranes slightly to the right at the distinct creaking of the front door. His mother, no doubt; she was probably coming in from her 'cool down' session, and of course it had to be right when his dad was gonna try to act like some kinda goddamn shrink. He can practically already hear the bullshit therapy talk.

 _"Why did you do that to Midoriya, Katsuki?" "Are you feeling mad?" "Why are you feeling mad?" "Do you think what you did is okay? Was that the right way to act?"_

"Oi, look at your dad! He's the one you needa be starin' at!" Mitsuki barks, though she strangely heads for the stairs rather than sauntering into the living room and bitching like she usually does. 'Whatever. Good fucking riddance.'

Before he can grumble a response, his father coughs- clearing his throat as he intertwines his fingers, calmly settling them onto his lap. When Katsuki's attention fully shifts over, Masaru leans forward, and the blond can't help but inwardly grimace. He could fully tune out the hag's annoying-ass screeching, but his father's neutral, gentle jargon? Fuck , that shit put him to sleep.

Masaru's mouth opens, and Katsuki runs a calloused hand through his hair, biting back a long, drawn out groan. Well, here comes the 'You need to control your temper and meditate like a pussy!' speech. Fuckin' fantastic.

"Your behavior today has been...God, Katsuki, have you gone mad? I'm not disappointed, son, no. That doesn't even begin to cover it- I'm...I'm frankly just ashamed," There's a pause, a deep, forlorn sigh falling from Masaru's lips as he goes to rub his eyes. "I mean, honestly, how can you talk so highly of your dreams to become a hero, and the turn around and hurt Midoriya the way you did? I don't understand. I can't understand." Katsuki's stomach drops, and Masaru's eyes lock with his own. For the first time in his life, his father's signature gentle expression doesn't greet him. Rather, his face holds something Katsuki's all too familiar with- disgust.

"You're supposed to be better than this."

Oh.

 _Oh_... he hadn't been expecting that.

Suddenly, sleeping sounds impossible- his every nerve is alight with shame; kindling a flame of pitiful self-loathing that burns brightly in his gut. It gurgles like a molten lava, sizzling in the back of his throat and he barely resists the urge to claw it out.

He's really done it this time. Really screwed shit up; but he should be used to it by now. The sludge villain. The Heroes vs Villains assignment. The USJ incident. The Sports Festival. All of it- every single situation he'd fucked something up, but Izuku? That stupid, shitty Deku was always one step ahead. Always one step closer to their shared dream-

 _'Goddamn it. '_

For a moment, his breathing quickens- the once leisurely rise and fall of his chest accelerating rapidly, and it feels as if he can't breath and, shit, he needs more air- yet suddenly the memory of All Might's hand on his shoulder from the first day of class, that soft yet grounding weight, washes over him and the hyperventilating stops before it can fully start.

He lingers on the thought- on the sensation of that deity-like presence, and a part of him feels grateful; the other is teeming with untapped rage as his subconscious supplies that Izuku is often compared to _him._ To _his_ greatness.

Deku, aka the one person who makes him feel like absolute shit by just being nearby, is said to mirror him - All Might - his hero.

Bull-fucking-shit.

He bites down harshly on his lip, ignoring the coppery taste that follows, and red eyes collide against his father's brown ones once more.

It's funny, kind of, that usually only Deku can make him feel this way- this awful and angry. But now it's the crushing pressure of his father's words instead.

"You owe Midoriya an apology," The clock's ticking emphasizes every syllable that falls from Masaru's lips, and as he pauses the bell chimes to signal that it's now whatever o'clock. Upstairs a door slams and the pipes suddenly surge with water; the hag's probably taking a shower.

"Do you understand me, Katsuki?"

He contemplates the idea; imagines apologizing to Deku. Now that was a new line of thought- truly, an idea he's never really considered. Sure, his friends in middle school had attempted to make him feel a twinge of guilt for the "take a swan-dive off the roof" comment, but even then his raging pride had revolted- rioted at the thought alone. The moment his chest had so much as dared to tighten when picturing Izuku jump from their school, his ego had crushed it. What did those stupid fucks know, huh? And who the fuck did they think they were, trying to make him feel bad for being honest?

He'd said it because it was true- without a quirk, Izuku's life would never have been meaningful; not the way Deku longed for. So hoping to be reborn better and stronger in the next life was clearly that little twerp's only shot at happiness. What the fuck would be the point of living if your life was aimless? How was suggesting death any worse than telling Deku to suck it up and go do something stupid and unfulfilling for the rest of his life?

Quirkless. Izuku was utterly devoid of any bodily mutation, and that fact alone was an immovable obstacle that Katsuki, as well as the rest of the world, had seen as the end of Izuku's dreams. Yet that nerd- that idiot- never acknowledged that blockade; spewing constant bullshit about how maybe if he studied hard he could still get into UA. Maybe if he memorized every bit of information about every pro-hero that he'd miraculously blow the entrance exam out of the water.

"You can be a police officer," their elementary teachers had said, "they also fight crime!"

It was a shallow attempt to be kind- to tiptoe around the fact that Izuku's dreams were good and dead. And just as those shits had feigned earnesty about Deku's chances of ever even tasting a sliver of success, that nerd had always plastered on a fake, polite smile and said "We'll see."

But Katsuki knew better. He'd known since childhood that Izuku Midoriya would bite down on failure, chew it up, and spit it out. That "we'll see" meant "never," and every "maybe if I try hard enough" was truly a "I will bend faith; I will succeed." Deep down he'd always feared that Izuku was right. That useless, quirkless Deku would brush shoulders with him as an equal one day- or worse, surpass him.

At one point in his life, he didn't understand- couldn't fathom why that shitnerd insisted on reaching out towards the idol that All Might was. Rather than accept that he was weak and destined for mediocrity, he continued to strive for a dream that a majority of people with quirks could never achieve. Being quirkless and not becoming a hero was to Midoriya what not winning was to himself- unacceptable. Izuku would never stop chasing their dream- no matter how bruised, how broken, how hopeless the situation was; those weak, quirkless hands would forever reach for that dream- that goal- even if it killed him. So, was it a stretch to say that dying would be better for Deku than living a meaningless life as a police officer?

Izuku Midoriya would die in the pursuit of his goals- and he would also die if he didn't reach them. Deku was Icarus; All Might: The sun, and Katsuki hated the idea of those wax wings melting as those quirkless hands reached for that blinding light.

That green idiot would fall, only to then be swallowed by the endless ocean that is failure. How was that mercy? How was letting him live such delusions of grandeur any kinder than the harsh truth?

Not everyone can be a hero.

A reverie of heat in his palms sparks to life at the idea of using his quirk; of igniting his hands in a blinding show of power and energy, and then it vanishes. His hands go frigid, a barren wasteland of vast emptiness as he contemplates a life without it . Without a quirk, a dream- a purpose, and he cringes at the thought.

That, he thinks, would definitely be worse than fucking dying.

He'd been right not to feel guilty back then. Surely living no life was better than Deku simply existing without a cause.

Or, at least, that's what he'd thought at the time. Obviously none of that mattered now- Deku'd been a sneaky little shit right from the start and lied- God, he can almost relive the shock of seeing that shitnerd throw the ball during Aizawa's bullshit quirk assessment; can almost feel the way the world had dropped out from underneath him back then. _'Quirkless my ass. '_

"I asked you a question, son. Do you or do you not understand?"

Understand fucking what? That he 'owes' Deku an apology? Worthless, good-for-nothing Deku who had lied to him and tarnished his goal of being the only kid from their middle school to enter UA?

He can practically taste the bitter laughter bubbling up in his throat- apologize?

No. Hell no. Deku didn't deserve shit from Katsuki except for a foot up his ass.

Then again he should give himself one too for even having contemplated feeling bad- feeling remorse for the boy who constantly shits on his path. Deku could fuck off and die for all he cared. All that shithead ever did was spew garbage from his pothole about being a hero- stupid, meaningless dribble about things he knew nothing about.

And, then it dawned on him. That's it. It's all just words.

Deku's bullshit? Words.

The old man's bullshit? More words.

And, within a moment, Katsuki realizes that what he really needs is for everyone to shut the hell up.

"I don't care if you get it..." The first few words come out as more of a croak, voice hoarse and ragged, yet suddenly that same oozing lava from before erupts- leaving ire-laced magma to explode from his mouth. The violent sneer that follows splinters across his features just as lightning traces veins along the heavens, and Masaru's expression falters. "I don't freaking need you to get it! Deku is in my way, and that bastard's always trying to one-up me!"

The pure amount of feelings swarming through his aching head and boiling blood propel him up and off the couch, fists clenched angrily at the blond's sides. His father's eyes widen, and Katsuki's just so goddamn tired of everyone constantly running their fucking mouths. Why can't he just blow it all away? Why don't they all just fuck off and die, die, die-

The dull sting of teeth digging into his lip resurges, the points of his canines further tearing at the soft flesh in anger. He's so sick of it- of Deku turning everything around in his life. Hell, that weasel even turned his own parents against him.

"You're ashamed of me, huh? Well, choke on the shame, for all I care- if you're just gonna side with Deku like everyone else, then get in the fucking line to kiss his ass already! I don't give a shit if you're not proud of me- you never are anyway-"

"Katsuki, that's-" Masaru's hands reach out to him, but he firmly stomps his foot on the ground for emphasis as the next words tear from his throat in a feral scream.

"But I'm going to be the number one hero no matter what any of you assholes say!"

He's not sure at what point his eyes began to prick with tears, or when the couch had started smoking, or when the hell he'd even gotten up and stormed out the door, but the next thing he knows it slams shut behind him with a visible quake of the frame.

As the tremors dispersed from the wood, so did the deep seated weight in Katsuki's gut. Yet, even as the guilt faded away, he was left with traces of anger in his blood and chest- coils of low heat simmering under his skin beneath the waning moon's light.

A soft breeze lulls through his hair, and his mind is suddenly quiet; yet not at peace. His thoughts have simply stalled- gone stale in the wake of overwhelming emotions, but it's better. Emptiness is welcomed in the place of explosive guilt, and Katsuki breathes a grateful sigh. As if on auto-pilot, he walks a slow, absent minded pace, strolling nowhere in particular.

His hands unclench, hanging lazily at his sides and a hiss falls from his lips when the adrenaline-rush subsides, allowing pain to register once more. Throwing a glance downward he notes the bloody crescent moons where dull nails had dug into his palms, and he wonders: If Izuku saw him now, would he still be the 'amazing' Kacchan? Would Deku still trail after him like a lost puppy?

He should hope the answer is no. After all, he's always wanted solitude- wanted Izuku to piss off, and stop patronizing him with empty praises. And yet, his heart lurches at the thought; barreling wildly against his ribcage in dismay. A life without Deku was unimaginable. Unreal. They've never been apart- no matter how badly Katsuki wanted them to be, and that green haired shitnerd was a constant factor in his life. Memories of his childhood are plagued with Deku. Middle school they'd sat a few rows apart, and the feeling of viridescent eyes upon his back had always been a commonplace sensation. The entrance exam had been no different- they'd been seated together for the written portion, as well as the assembly.

Even now, they were attached somehow; by some cruel twist of faith. Izuku was at UA, in class 1-A, and seated directly behind him, and Katsuki can't help but be bitter about it.

Enraptured in swirling thoughts of Deku, he continues to wander, and without notice he follows the splatters of red leading away from the front steps of the house. The air is cool, the sun's presence all but faded from the sky line, and a crisp breeze nips at his heated skin. It eases the hot expanse of his palms, and there's an incessant sting littering his left cheek.

Probably just the scratches from Izuku's nails- much like the ones on his back; though, each time the fabric of the shirt skids over them it's honestly not unpleasant. In fact, for mere fractions of passing seconds it almost feels strangely enjoyable; it soothes him- as had his skinned knuckles at school, though those had long since scabbed over. No, now Katsuki instead finds solace in the fading hum of telephone wires, and skidding of gravel beneath his feet-

..."Did I seriously forget to put on fucking shoes?"

As callused fingers come to loosely twine themselves through thick blonde locks, Katsuki groans- that same hand dragging aggravatedly across his face before falling at his side once more.

What the hell was up with him? He'd literally stormed past his loafers on the way out and had still managed to miraculously forget to put them on like some kind of dipshit.

Had it been Kaminari who'd done some dumb shit like this he wouldn't of been surprised- hell, he could even see shitty-hair and raccoon eyes being this aloof, but himself? That was a new low; a brand new record for limboing under his own standards- and because of what? Deku?

That shitnerd didn't warrant so much as a glance, let alone a fuckin' meltdown that left him so distracted he'd walked past his own goddamn shoes.

 _'Whatever.'_ The thought comes out bitter and cold, and that makes him even more resentful; it didn't matter now. Izuku had gotten under his skin like the filthy parasite he was because Katsuki had let him. He'd allowed that insufferable prick to constantly consume his thoughts- constantly draw his attention, and here he was, paying the price for it. But who the fuck was there to blame? It was his own fault for being so...so weak . So disgustingly weak and goadable.

It doesn't matter. Katsuki's jaw clenches, teeth grinding down harshly together. He's not gonna let it matter.

After all, he wasn't going back for those dumbass loafers, but he really had to wonder: were the torturous, never-ending thoughts of Deku frying his brain cells, or what?

"Next I'm gonna forget how to talk-"

The glowering presence of a shadow casting down from above him shifts Katsuki's dazed focus from the crimson splotched dirt beneath his feet up to the small underpass of the main entrance of the park. He'd been so preoccupied thinking about his stupid shoes he hadn't even noticed that he'd followed the dwindling trail of blood splatters all the way here; and the sudden absence of streetlamps gives birth to an engulfing darkness.

A swift movement catches his eye, and through the shroud of obsidian night he swears he sees someone heading towards that old rusted chain-link fence. The one that houses the creek where Katsuki had gotten his first and most bitter taste of Izuku's pity.

He blinks twice in rapid succession, peering heavily at the figure with a narrowed glare. His immediate thought is to wonder what kinda weirdo would be in the park at this hour, but said pondering is followed by a sudden deep sense of self because he is. He's a weirdo who's wandering in a park at who-fucking-knows-o'clock...hell, he doesn't even know why he's there in the first place-

There's an abrupt electric glow near the aforementioned gate, illuminating the person standing by it as streaks of fluorescent energy erupt wildly around their body. The strands of whatever that shit is bouncing haphazardly around the person obscures the darkness, giving Katsuki moments of clear vision, and in the vague incandescent light storm he catches hints of green hair and caramel skin.

Without so much as a thought, Katsuki goes to say something- he's not even sure why, yet before he can do so, the person hops over the fence in a way that is anything but elegant. No, rather it seems as if they're struggling to coordinate their thoughts to their actions, and thus they fumble; hitting the ground on the other side with a less than graceful manner, legs stiffly pounding into the soft earth with an audible thud. Not that they seem to care- the second the weirdo's feet hit the ground they're sprinting off into the greenery.

"Deku."

The word leaves his lips with a strangled sound, and despite every nerve erupting into a blazing inferno that howls incessantly at him to stop, Katsuki's legs don't comply. Rather they burst into motion, racing after the fire-fly fuckface who he hopes to God isn't Izuku; anyone but Izuku.

There's no graceful jump, or strategic set of explosions to vault him over when he reaches the border separating the park from the forest, instead he launches himself onto the fence with a breakneck speed- fingers catching on the barbed wire coiled around the metal links. If it is Deku, he doesn't want to alert him of his position; climbing's his best bet, regardless of the merciless way the hooks rip into his skin.

The pinpricks of blood begin to run into liberated streams as every step up tears further into the expanses of his hands and feet. Katsuki almost doesn't notice, too caught up in concentrating on how the fuck he's gonna clear the top without snagging his junk on goddamn shitty stupid fucking barbed wire.

 _'Fuck it, I'll just handstand on top of the bar and cut the shit outta my arms when I hop over.'_

He doesn't bother looking when he goes to grip the top bar, sticking both hands into the frayed mess of wire on top- it's fine. His jaw clenches as he bites his tongue, a harsh exhale following when he manages to finally push through the coils, bloody, ripped palms making blissful contact with the solid metal. His feet press strongly against the fence, thighs braced in preparation when Katsuki pushes off- swinging his legs upwards as his arms grow taut; the muscle straining under his skin to not only heave him upward, but also hold him in place. He's about to let out a sigh of relief when his shirt drops to flap against his face, and he can't help but think karma is a salty bitch.

There's a slight hiss that escapes his lips, hands shifting on the pole from the momentum- forcing them to grate against the jagged metal in an agonizingly slow manner. The coppery smell of blood mixes heavily with that of rust, and he swears to God if he gets some weird ass disease from this shit he's suing whatever stupid douche owns this park.

 _'Goddamn it, here comes the hard part.'_

He lowers his arms, buckling them slightly- core shaking and twitching from the effort to keep his legs vertically in the air.

 _'If I don't jump soon I'm screwed.'_

"Can't go too low or I'll cut my face on the wire, which would be fine," Katsuki tries to blow the shirt away from his face, yet to no avail it still drapes over his view. "If I could fucking see."

He attempts to lower himself even more, but a sudden gust of wind billows his shirt, puffing it out and causing it to snag onto the barbs; and that moment alone desiccates the last wisps of patience Katsuki possesses. With a harsh grunt he practically throws himself over, seething at the sound of fabric ripping before he lands in a squat.

The impact directly lathers his plethora of abrasions in dirt, and fuck, his feet hurt. Yet the pain is quickly forgotten as anger fuels him to turn and glare darkly at the fence- noting the chunk of his shirt that still clings to it teasingly. As he watches it dance along a mirthful breeze, Katsuki barely subdues the urge to blow the whole thing to hell- the only thing keeping him at bay is the thought of Deku.

...Well, of him hearing the explosion; that is to say if that weirdo even is Deku.

"Where did that shitnerd run off to?" Katsuki mutters, swatting with budding irritation at the thick shrubbery. It's beginning to obstruct his view, the unmaintained vegetation having grown exponentially to overtake most of the forest, and it's annoying as shit.

Not only were there oversized weeds everywhere, but the plethora of trees kept most of the moonlight at bay, casting everything beneath them into darkness; only the slight sway of the wind would momentarily shift the leaves to reveal speckles of starshine, yet it was gone in an instant.

There's a splash, followed by the quiet gushing of a stream, yet he sees no water. It was more than likely that old creek, and by the sounds of rippling waves it seemed to be up ahead, but no matter how hard he tried to peer into the dark he couldn't make out the shape of a single goddamn thing. It was all just trees, bushes, and grass- small branches and thorns that would occasionally further irritate the cuts littering his skin, and he'd had enough of it.

He couldn't help but fume- what was he even doing out here? This entire ordeal was pointless, an absolute waste of his time. There's nothing to gain from the situation; he doesn't even know what he'd do if he found Deku to begin with. Yell? Argue? Tell him to fuck right on out of his life? None of that sparked any desire in him- it was all mundane, and none of it had ever worked in the past. No, the only thing Katsuki wanted was to challenge him to a proper fight. If he could fight Izuku with both of them on equal starting lines and win, he'd be truly sated.

To feel that glory- that triumph over Deku while he's using his all? His 'all' being the quirk he'd hidden from Katsuki for all those years?

Now that would be satisfying, unlike his cheap win at the sports festival.

With one final shove of his bloody forearm Katsuki moves the last branch blocking his path, and a sudden clearing opens up, revealing the meandering river that now sits before him; yet he can't move towards it. It's not the sudden lack of vegetation that stalls his thoughts, nor the increased visibility due to the unbarred light of the moon; it's not even the sight of the stream he'd fallen in as a child, rather it's what sits along the edge of the bank that leaves him paralyzed.

The light shines off Deku's hair in an ethereal way, encasing him in a ghostly glow as he leisurely dips his feet into the water. All is silent aside from the occasional soft breath or two, only accompanied by the light rustle of the leaves behind Katsuki. Izuku's clad in nothing but his boxers as his clothes are perched lazily against a nearby tree, and even though he seems to be caught up in thought, he's not muttering. Rather, he's slowly rolling his head back and forth, rubbing his neck occasionally as if to release the tension within his body. Yet, the further he lowers himself into the water, the more and more stiff he looks-

"...so cold.." Katsuki hears the other mutter, the sound coalescing with the rippling water as Deku fully sinks himself into the pacified stream.

He's not sure how long he's been standing there- or if he even is standing there. He can't feel his damn body; rather it's like he's trapped in an invisible prison, muscles so tense with nerves that Katsuki can't think about breathing, let alone do so. The air's hitched in his lungs, snagged on a fear whose origin eludes him- why would he give a rat's ass if Deku noticed him?

Sure, they just had a fight, but it's not as if they haven't had a strained relationship since middle school. It doesn't make any sense- then again, he never makes any damn sense around that damn nerd.

There's something about that green hair and those iridescent eyes that gets under Katsuki's skin like a plague; irritating him from the inside out 'till he's forgetting his shoes and acting like a total coward.

And while he's not certain of what that something is, he sure is fucking tired of it.

A sudden splash rips him from his reverie, and Katsuki notices Izuku's gone- or at least until Deku breaks through the surface of the water, though the moon's haunting glow cascading across the stream makes it resemble a faulty mirror. It's like the kind at those shitty circus festivals that are concave and bent to make you look dumb as shit in 'em-

...but Deku doesn't look dumb. No, as he's breaching the top with a slight gasp and a shiver, all his features encased in darkness aside from the random highlights of starlight raining down on him, he looks ethereal. Gorgeous, even, and it's making Katsuki's head spin to the point where it feels like he's stuck on a carousel. Every time it makes its rounds, he feels more and more like he's gonna hurl, and it's all because he just can't take his fucking eyes off Deku. His hair is wet, splayed in so many stupid directions that Katsuki can't even count them all, and his lips are parted and covered in dew-like drops; but that's not the worst of it, no. Even his plump cheeks that he knows house those pesky little freckles aren't what's making his stomach convulse, rather it's the other's eyes.

Bright, sickeningly green, and beautiful- refracting the heavens' glow like some kind of holy, shitilly placed gemstones. For some reason, he can't help but want to see them up close-

Yet, right as the bile, and regret, and self-loathing start to claw up his throat, he staggers the slightest bit backwards. It's an after-effect of tossing his head back slightly to avoid purging the contents of his stomach, and as his feet ground him he steps on a twig. It splinters with a sound akin to a crack of lightning; louder than any explosion, and more deafening than even his mother's yells. He'd chalk it up to his nerves amplifying everything, but as Izuku's head turns in his direction he's no longer frozen.

Rather than being a deer caught in headlights, he's a bull in a china shop- aggressively ripping back the way he came, regardless off the pain thrumming through his feet.

This time, there is no stealth. As Katsuki meets the fence that so lovingly tore up his hands and feet earlier, he doesn't climb it; this time he hurls himself over it with two bursts from his palms, clearing it with ease. But he can't even stop to appreciate how good it felt to finally release some of the tension he'd been feeling, rather his brain is on auto-pilot and his legs simply won't stop moving. They pound the Earth with at an unrelenting pace, sending him marching out of the park and passing through the shadow drenched neighborhoods.

But he doesn't head home- doesn't follow the route he knows like the back of his hand. He knows that when he gets there he'll be greeted with nothing but shit flying out of his mother's mouth, and Katsuki simply isn't in the mood to deal with it. He'd head to one of his dumbass friends' dorms back at the school, but it's not their jobs to deal with his shit.

Besides, Dunce Face would simply annoy him to death, Raccoon-eyes would want to talk about it all night, Shitty Hair might whine and tell him to apologize 'cause fighting your classmates ain't 'manly,' or 'right,' and Tape Dispenser-

...Actually, that walking Office Max might give him legitimate peace and quiet. He's always blunt, but unlike Kaminari there's logic behind his words, so even when he does speak he's not half as irritating. In fact, Katsuki doesn't wanna deck him into next week every class the way he does that blond idiot.

Plus, considering it's the weekend, he should still be up playing some shitty video games or whatever that smiley motherfucker does for fun.

 _'This could work.'_

It would give him the space and alone time he needs without having Aizawa chew him out later for wandering around at night.

What's the worst that could happen?

"So, lemme just hear it one more time: you watched him bathe in a pond-"

"A stream, dipshit! Are your ears filled with wax?" Katsuki barks out, glaring harshly in the other's direction as he watches him roll his eyes and shrug.

"Oh, pardon me, a _stream,_ " Hanta corrects, moving towards the closet to pull out what looks to be a sleeping bag before tossing it over lazily. "then you got flustered, and ran all the way over here to crash in my room for the night? Seriously, Bakugou? That sounds pretty g-a-y."

Nevermind. He wasn't better than Kaminari.

He was _way_ fucking worse.


End file.
